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Running along down there), each all too real
And undisguisable deformity
Passing in plain view, in the open here.
what the sea muttered
With a variation on a theme of Goya
You haven't kept the reader busy enough.
I know, I know -- it comes of my long aff air
With the clear and ordinary; all my care
May fail to hold the intensity in the stuff .
Too many off -rhymes, rhythms strained and rough,
You crash the delicate old barrier
Between octave and sestet.
I declare
My shame before the masters. You sheer off
From the whole truth: not even writing of
That day you found you'd fallen out of love
With running down here, much less of harder themes.
-- The reason sleeps, and monsters shape the dreams
Which are the things we're doing in broad day,
The monstrous half-done.... Nolo contendere.
what the wind hissed
A chill gray day and a wind began to blow:
Where will you get with that plain water style?
Running's a joke that long since has gone stale,
Seascapes were old a century ago.
I like plain words, I always have been slow.
And the names you drop. Milton of course is vile,
And Hemingway! pathetic macho male ...