Dream Song 83

His Toy, His Dream, His Rest (1969)

Op. posth. no. 6

I recall a boil, whereupon as I had to sit,just where, and when I had to, for deadlines.O I could learn to type standing,but isn’t it slim to be slumped off from that,problems undignified, fiery dig salt mines?—Content on one’s black flat:

soming no deadline—is all ancient nonsense—no typewriters—ha! ha!—no typewriters—alas!For I have much to open, I know immensetroubles & wonders to their secret curse.Yet when erect on my ass,

pissed off, I sat two-square, I kept shut my mouthand stilled my nimble fingers across keys.That is I stood up.Now since down I lay, void of love & ruth,I’d howl my knowings, only there’s the earthoverhead. Plop!

His Toy, His Dream, His Rest (1969)