You might find something more jolly.
It's not a great deal in here of that kind.
Well, here's a poem, which is essentially a game.
It's called "The Wars of Adolescence."
It's that kind of poem which--
it's an organic poem.
It simply pulls out of every statement that's gone before.
It's something strange and something hopefully
interesting, clears up at the end of the poem.
It's essentially about the sexual wars of adolescence
that one has when one is young and doesn't understand quite
what's happening.
And again, it clears itself up at the end of the poem,
I think.
"The Wars of Adolescence."
Think of the soul.
The soul thinks entirely of the body.
The body is out walking.
The soul in a silk jacket moans for its destructible friend.
The Civil Aeronautics Board leaped into the mountains.
They were seeking a cause.
A dress blew laconically toward them.
It was preceded by teary handkerchiefs,
not unlike souls.
Later we compared notes as a college.
The pilot and crew having passed up these ridiculous flights
were out walking.
Suddenly, one looked up.
Trembling with anxiety, I looked up your address, your dress.
Every spring another attempt was made.