Houses - the dark side silhouetted on flashes of moonlight!
Say it, no ideas but in things - nothing but the blank faces of the houses and cylindrical trees bent, forked by preconception and accident - split, furrowed, creased, mottled, stained - secret - into the body of the light!
It's the anarchy of poverty
delights me, the old
yellow wooden house indented
among the new brick tenements
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