8. Mardi Gras

Skyscrapers split up
I found at the bottom Canudo with uncut pages
For a quarter

In a used book shop on 14^th Street
Religiously
Your improvisation on Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony

One regards New York as the mercantile Venice of the Western

ocean

The Cross opens
Dance
There’s no commune

There’s no aeropagus

There’s no spiritual pyramid
I don’t understand very well the word “Imperialism”
But in your loft
Amidst the wistitis the Indians the fair women

The poet has come
Color Word

There are hours that ring

Mountjoy!

Roland’s oliphant

My New York hovel

Books
Telegraph messages
And the sun brings to you the beautiful body of today in

newspaper clippings
Those baby-blankets

February 1914.