Uncle Walt today (19 March 2008) in gangrenous green gloss
under the arm as I get off the tube at Stratford & take the Great
Eastern towards Ilford, Goodmayes, Chadwell Heath - to be
dressed as a prole, his stare vindicates, is to be dressed for all men;
I want it to be true that a broke clerk of 'democratic syntax' did not
only speak for but was read in rations by real workers in Bury & Bolton
- on lunch breaks, at railway stations - by the boys compressed
into action along the Mersey, the Thames, the Tyne. Compadres
of class, across the Atlantic, docking copies of Leaves of Grass
as functional, arms to action, dissatisfaction, as real as their own tools.


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