THE GATE

Excerpt XLVIII

Hey, hey, hey birds, yellow, light-blue, red, and I alone,

dressed with glass gleaming with a flowerpot put on

like a hat, pot soil in my mouth, watering can

in my undergarments.

Helen, Helen,

I didn’t yell; I spat on the ground. The train had entered

the Station. The door was closed.

The ticket inspectors were smoking under the green

light; Then I thought that between the half and the fourth

I preferred the nothing.

I started singing, wheels, wheels, trains, more trains

loaded with

frozen beef, two crates with eggs and a basket with

golden quince pears.

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