WEBVTT

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So that was the beginning of
"Miss MacIntosh, My Darling."

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I remember I sent
it to an old poetry

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teacher of mine, an extremely
conservative Victorian lady.

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And I think this is why
I lost the great work.

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She wrote to me
and said, if this

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is what you're doing at
the University of Chicago,

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come back to Indianapolis.

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So that was-- you see that,
I've turn right around

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and wrote the whole book,
so on such subjects.

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Let me see now.

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I don't know,
"Figures of Space,"

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I'll read because
it seems to give

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a feeling of sleep and dream.

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Like an opium dream perhaps.

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I hasten to say that, I
don't even take aspirin

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for fear it might wake me up.

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I seem to be permanently
in a somnolent state,

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and if I took a sleeping
pill, I'd probably wake up.

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So I'm always in
that lovely state,

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between figures in space.

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Why did nature after
such large expense,

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declare the pact of
her unaltered peace

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and let the invaders
softly enter in?

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Sleep, sleep with no
defense, but the tired sentry

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sleeping at the
outer wall of space.

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So wind herself in fleece
of that cold flame,

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in the dream of space,
in Jason's silver fleece.

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Nocturnal rabbits
sport above her breast.

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Upon her vein, the
white albino flower

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sparkles a climate
mild from pole to pole.

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She is supine.

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She fades from her
own eyes, and fading

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sees her image darkening.

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There is no trust now in
her blood colored cloud,

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nor in the frigid flames
of her bright sea.