THE EMERALD OF THE UNIVERSE COULD BLOOM AT DUSK

Blessings of a distant waterfall getting air from a stone
comers in a rich gold field the power and beauty of working machines
the arm of a single bond to its neighbor and galaxy the patterns of life and society
I beam into place
to yield one pound of shellac which shall go to war no more

observation deck is crammed with wires, reels, magnetic tape, computer circuits
equipped with a scoop to pick up water beyond the limits
I know we are accused of providing few thin slices of Portuguese cork
Bolivian asbestos for residential zones, there was little noise and no filth
this day shall bring forth the gold from the crying of night which is called the ethers
in all its swiftness those youths, I'm afraid, are clear, current flows through a vanity cushion

and nostrils of flame, and the power beneath your legs
surrounds you and exalts your calling and vibrations surround every world
I am come within the blueness of it,
to be at the hairdresser four miles from home that this day
the mighty fortress unto the uninitiated
order, a new system delivered to the flames that you cannot see
for its power is felt which is felt, they fear this day
arranged, tier upon tier, empty of reasoning born one after another

no oats or stable space unto thine true identity
scenes deep in the black forest closed the valve, and at the same time drove
furnaces, clanging anvils, clattering drop hammers, pounding
it was water--and the waterwheel--the telepathic thread
his hell grew new mechanization never to be in worship
her flesh was scraped from her bones with church on the planet of another star

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