—G O N splashes-sink
which is east eight,a star of three annoys

me,but the stink of perfumed noise
fiercely mounts from the fireman’s ball,i think

and also i think of you,getting mandolin-clink
mixed with your hair;feeling your knees
amoung the supercilious chimneys,

my nerves sumptuously wink
....and little-dusk has his toys to play with
(will BigMorning get away with
them?)’m’en doute,)
chérie,j’m’em doute.

the accurate key to a palace

—You.—in this window sits a Face
(it is twilight)a Face playing on a flute