Having been asleep at milking, dead woman rumble, you’ve been told!
Barefoot duck is flying, immune to the dogs,
Having dropped in through the teeth: it has been fried on gold:
Milk, bitterly is alike — hearts of kettle-drums one holds.
By feathers soft fingers, of the colored mind,
By fading away they’re slipping, by swelling of long times,
It’s terrible and it’s sweet! All the kisses of wood kind
— In steam they’re kissing each other, being born as wines.
Enchanting shawl as shore,
Blunt dream of ruby, tortured by the flash as planned
Drunken day, like gut, lard blew up more: Evil
Swishes, like roe deer, or grabbed notebook tanned! Red
Greyhound in the fire, of daydreaming sand.