Three hot-eyed kids hard on a fix’s heels.
Enraged that the cash he had on him was small,
Did in James Edmondson, famed vaudeville’s

Out walking ties left over from a track
Where nothing travels now but rust and grass,
I half-believe in something that would pass

Though it is not our right to claim that the poets represented in the following portfolio would have remained in dark unfathomed caves of ocean had it not been for The Paris Review, surely all are among those writers whom this magazine has helped make known. 

In a prominent bar in Secaucus one day 
Rose a lady in skunk with a top heavy sway,
Raised a knobby red finger—all turned from their beer—

How many statesmen let you move their lips
  like creaking shutters while they stood there dazed?
What statues did you dedicate? What ships

The Lion sleeps with open eyes
That none may take him by surprise.
The Son of God he signifies