I left my wife for a dictionary.
It spoke as 1000 strangers to me,
and if I saw hand and hatch
I saw harpsicon—a bargain,
a batten, a bed where
I please my
self, strength, segnora…
Day like a nettle.
Day for stress, that private, ordinary infirmity.
Day in which the sight of her ear will do me,
and all afternoon I eat lobster.
Drunk, I home in
on her fine gloves:
a church I give
a sermon to
while I sup.
Only love a bard
for the company and the wine,
as a king
is a ladder to the crown.
Dine me, wine me,
know me and Valentine me,
please me, give me
a spoonful of honey
for my cold.
The dolphin dined
on a sandwich all alone.
I talk with my ma.
We sat drinking
of a great udder,
where we observed
the several
engines at work:
one round thing
going with a pair
of stairs round,
round as a reed
that cried to see
a mother where
we drank.
My stuff all alone
and calling me,
I went home.
We love one another.
We cannot part.
To China by ship
we make the globe pay.
Returned to my corn,
I knock six times
upon the ground.
All morning thinking.
On the water, the corpse of a swan.
I eat 200 walnuts.
My men and I met, a committee
to consider ships,
to see what it is
they desire from water:
winehouse, home or bed?
Or news of the night…
I go in secret.
The score I hear is my heart,
is for bell and wind.
Drunk, I defend myself
with a late foot.