Kenneth Patchen

Be music, night,
That her sleep may go Where angels have their pale tall choirs Be a hand, sea,
That her dreams may watch Thy guidesman touching the green flesh of the world Be a voice, sky,
That her beauties may be counted And the ...

Apply for the position (I've forgotten now for what) I had to marry the Second Mayor's daughter by twelve noon
The order arrived three minutes of
I already had a wife; the Second Mayor was childless: but I did it
Next they told me t...

Wherever the dead are there they are
Nothing more
But you and I can
To see angels in the meadowgrass that

The Dove walks with sticky
Upon the green crowns of the almond tree,
Its feathers smeared over with
Like

Man-dirt and stomachs that the sea unloads; rockets of quick lice crawling inland, planting their damn flags, putting their malethings in any hole that will stand still, yapping bloody murder while they slice off each other’s heads, spewing themse...

Let us have madness openly
O men Of my generation
Let us follow The footsteps of this slaughtered age: See it trail across Time's dim land Into the closed house of eternity With the noise that dying has, With the face that dead things we...

In the footsteps of the walking
Sky's prophetic chickens weave their cloth of
And hillsides lift green wings in somber journeying
Night in his soft haste bumps on the shoulders of the