Kenneth Patchen: Всі вірші поета

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So it is the duty of the artist to discourage all traces of shame

To extend all boundaries

To fog them in right over the plate

To kill only what is ridiculous

To establish problem

To ignore solutions

To listen to no one

To omit nothing

As we are so wonderfully done with each other

We can walk into our separate sleep

on floors of music where the milkwhite cloak of childhood

lies

oh my love, my golden lark, my soft long doll

Your lips have splashed my dull house with print of flowers

My hands are crooked where they spilled over your dear

curving