Room 74


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an excrutiation of acrostic ecstasy,

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and the concentration against

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this mad possible in us all

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he, the thinker, down digging

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to tubers whose golden boulders

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such gifts,such tallith truth,

such : life

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and the seeding words

their gemmation as no other,

and this, built by other hands,

green as light, new-shivering -

and the

lamb’s bleat

beating into the who and where

and what we are —

yesterday is todayed

again again and again

never unremember

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Turn


the human scroll,

turn the scroll -

turn:


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