The palings are made of iron bars with steel points that
can stab the life out of any man who falls on them.
As a fence, it is a masterpiece, and will shut off the rabble
and all vagabonds and hungry men and all wandering
children looking for a place to play.
Passing through the bars and over the steel points will go
nothing except Death and the Rain and To-morrow.
Sleepy Henry Hackerman hoes.There are laws in the village against weeds.The law says a weed is wrong and shall be killed.The weeds say life is a white and lovely thingAnd the weeds come on and on in irrepressible regiments.Sleepy Henry Hackerman hoes; and the village law uttering a ban on weeds is unchangeable law.
Washing tides of powerBattering the pillarsUnder your things of high law.III am a sleeplessSlowfaring eater,Maker of rust and rotIn your bastioned fastenings,Caissons deep.IIII am the LawOlder than youAnd your builders proud.I am deafIn all daysWhether youSay ‘Yes’ or ‘No’.I am the crumbler:To-morrow.
Smoke of a steel-mill roof or a battleship funnel,They all go up in a line with a smokestack,Or they twist … in the slow twist … of the wind.If the north wind comes they run to the south.If the west wind comes they run to the east.By this signall smokesknow each other.Smoke of the fields…
And I went to famous executives who boss the work ofthousands of men.They all shook their heads and gave me a smile as thoughI was trying to fool with themAnd then one Sunday afternoon I wandered out alongthe Desplaines riverAnd I saw a crowd of Hungarians under the trees withtheir women and children and a…
The child was never even born.Why go on? Why so much as begin?How can we turn the clock back nowAnd not laugh at each otherAs ashes laugh at ashes?
Clots of red mess my hairAnd the tiger, the buffalo, know how.I was a killer.Yes, I am a killer.I come from killing.I go to more.I drive red joy ahead of me from killing.Red gluts and red hungers run in the smears and juicesof my inside bones:The child cries for a suck mother and I cry…
