O my love my dear ladyThe world is not very bigThere is only room for our wonderAnd the light leaning winds of heavenAre not more sweet or pureThan your mouth on my throatO my love there are larks in our morningAnd the finding flame of your handsAnd the moss on the bank of the riverAnd the butterfliesAnd the whirling-madButterflies!
"'O My Love the Pretty Towns'"
For greatness is only the drayhorse that coaxes The built cart out; and where we go is reason. But genius is an enormous littleness, a trickling Of heart that covers alike the hare and the hunter.Kenneth Patchen
Dogs with broken legs are shot; men with broken souls write through the night.Kenneth Patchen
God must have loved the People in Power, for he made them so very like their own image of him.Kenneth Patchen
But genius is an enormous littleness, a tricklingOf heart that covers alike the hare and the hunter.Kenneth Patchen
As we are so wonderfully done with each otherWe can walk into our separate sleepon floors of music where the milkwhite cloak of childhoodliesKenneth Patchen
Your lips have splashed my dull house with print of flowersMy hands are crooked where they spilled over your dearcurvingKenneth Patchen
The animal I wantedCouldn't get into the world...I can hear it cryingWhen I sit like this away from life.Kenneth Patchen
Have you wondered why all the windows in heaven werebroken?Have you seen the homeless in the grave of God'shand?Do you want to acquaint the larks with the fatuousmusic of war?Kenneth Patchen