a fragrant sag of fruit distinctly grouped.
I have not eaten peppers for a week.
On this street the houses immensely speak
(it is nine minutes past six)
the well-fed L’s immaculate roar looped
straightens,into neatest distance....
A new curve of children gladly cricks
where a hurdy-gurdy accurately pants.
and pompous ancient jews obscurely twitch
through the bumping teem of Grand. a nudging froth
of faces clogs Second as Mrs. Somethingwich
(with flesh like an old toy balloon)
heavily swims to Strunsky’s,
eats tangerines looking at the moon—