I breathe the noxious air because it is there 
Set free at the last moment 
                                                           a green cloth folds 

Here the noiseless mind 
Is like a quiet wind
Blowing across the mottled stones

Like the stars
I’ve been wandering alot

A paper chair

So gay on your lovely head 
The hat cradles the specialty 
Of the house brand-new 

I was thinking where are we all going when we were 
Going through the snow on the ground, underbrush 
Beneath like the New England personality going 

On Sunday afternoon in Georgia I had nothing to do
So I sent myself back to Georgia underwater
In the traditional manner of the English

The ridge road takes the ridgespine every way
It turns. It threads the granite venebrae
And old. wind-dwarfed ponderosas that twist

1.
Technically it was liquid asphalt:
MC, RC, or 85/100—
nothing very far removed

They had their own churches in their own
parts of town, some with domes like onions.
My uncle who got around told me they plastered

Tonight in the Southwest
Sadness is disappearing

Tonight in splash-marks