i am going to utter a tree, Nobody

shall stop me

but first

earth        , the reckless oral darkness

raging with thin impulse

i will have

a

dream

i

think it shall be roses and

spring will bring her

worms rushing through loam.

(afterward i'll

climb

by tall careful muscles

into nervous and accurate silence . . . . But   first

you)

press easily

at first, it will be leaves

and a little harder

for roses

only a little harder

last      we

on the groaning flame of neat huge

trudging kiss moistly climbing hideously with

large

minute

hips, O

.press

worms rushing slowly through loam