What can the dove of Jesus give You now but wisdom, exile? Stand and live, The dove has brought an olive branch to eat.
I saw the spiders marching through the air, Swimming from tree to tree that mildewed day In latter August when the hay Came creaking to the barn.
September twenty-second, Sir, the bough cracks with unpicked apples, and at dawn the small-mouth bass breaks water, gorged with spawn.
Life begins to happen. My hoppped up husband drops his home disputes, and hits the streets to cruise for prostitutes
Wallowing in this bloody sty, I cast for fish that pleased my eye
The Lord survives the rainbow of His will.
Once fishing was a rabbit's foot-- O wind blow cold, O wind blow hot
It's a completely powerful and serious book, as good as anything in prose or poetry written by a 'beat' writer, and one of the most alive books written by any American for years. I don't see how it could be considered immoral.
the scythers, Time and Death, Helmed locusts, move upon the tree of breath
I will catch Christ with a greased worm, And when the Prince of Darkness stalks My bloodstream to its Stygian term . . . On water the Man-Fisher walks.
And blue-lung'd combers lumbered to the kill.
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