To The Academians, And Those First Box Front, Opera

Pleasant, of course,
reading of Chekhov,
Maupassant,
J. Joyce,
but the time is
really now,
it really is,
the Hollywood ladies
have their way,
their pissers
sheathed and slinking
in my dirty mind
but mainly
I feel we are all
stricken of daring
that counts,
so it’s pleasant
of course
reading the
letters of Lawrence
or collecting
Barlachs’
in wood
or translating Paz,
but
that iron hand
and
the climbing
of the mountain . . .
Christ, you mean to
tell me . . .
we got to wait on
yesterday?