Snail Poem

 Make my grave shape of heart so like a flower be free aired
 & handsome felt,
Grave root pillow, tung up from grave & wigle at
 blown up clowd.

Ear turnes close to underlayer of green felt moss & sound
 of rain dribble thru this layer
 down to the roots that will tickle my ear.

Hay grave, my toes need cutting so file away
 in sound curve or
Garbage grave, way above my head, blood will soon
 trickle in my ear -
 no choise but the grave, so cat & sheep are daisey
 turned.

Train will tug my grave, my breath hueing gentil vapor
 between weel & track.

So kitten string & ball, jumpe over this mound so
 gently & cutely
So my toe can curl & become a snail & go curiousely
 on its way.


1958 NYC

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