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A Book of Poetic Experiments

written by "Bynner, Witter, 1881-1968" are sleeping; Even the leaves Grow still.      And slowly Out of the blankness, out of the silence Emerges on soundless wings! The long sweet-sloping Rise and fall of far viol notes, The mad Nirvana, The faint and spectral Dream-music Of my heart's desire. EMANUEL MORGAN Opus 29 KNIVES for feet, and wheels for a chin, And the long smooth iron bore for a neck, And bullets for hands. . . . And the root runs in, The root of blood no stone can check, From the breasts of the grinding crash of sin, From engines hugging in a wreck. A thousand round-red mouths of pain Blaring black, A twisting comrade on his back In a round-red stain, Clotted stalks of red sumac, Discs of the sun on a bayonet-stack . . . Blood, flame, a cataract Thrown upward from a desert place: Flame and blood, the one blind fact, Contained, or spouting from the face, Or coiling out of bellies, packed In a stinking spent embrace . . . Country, a babble of black spume . . . Faith, an eyeball in the sand . . . Mother, a nail through a broken hand A kissing fume And out of her breast the bloody bubbling milk-red breath Of death. ANNE KNISH Opus 96 YOU are the Delphic Oracle Of the Under-World.      As we sit talking, All of us together, You flash forth sudden utterance Of buried things That writhe in obscure life Within our minds' last darkness. That which we think and say not You say and think not. In us these thoughts Like worms stir vilely. But from you they depart as sudden butterflies Crimson and green against the pure sky.      Many are the revelers; Few are the thyrsus-bearers; And sole is Dionysus.      This I inscribe to you, Singer, In memory of the crags of Delphi And the Thessalian vales beyond. EMANUEL MORGAN Opus 40 TWO cocktails round a smile,      A grapefruit after grace...

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