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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=551180" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Easter Monday [excerpt]</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=551180" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Chicago Morning</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=551180" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">To Philip Guston</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=551180" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Under a red face, black velvet shyness<br>Milking an emaciated gaffer. God lies down<br>Here. Rattling of a shot, heard<br>From the first row. The president of the United States<br>And the Director of the FBI stand over<br>a dead mule. 'Yes, it is nice to hear the fountain<br>With the green trees around it, as well as<br>People who need me.' Quote Lovers of speech unquote. It's<br>   a nice thought<br>& typical of a rat. And, it is far more elaborate<br>Than expected. And the thing is, we don't need<br>   that much money.<br>Sunday morning; blues, blacks, red & yellow wander<br>In the soup. Gray in the windows' frames. The angular<br>Explosion in the hips. A huge camel rests<br>   in a massive hand<br>Casts clouds a smoggish white out & up over the Loop, while<br>Two factories (bricks) & a fortress of an oven (kiln)<br>Rise, barely visible inside a grey metallic gust.<br>   'The Fop's Tunic.'<br>She gets down, off of the table, breaking a few more plates.<br>Natives paint their insides crystal white here (rooms)<br>Outside is more bricks, off-white. Europe at Night.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Ted+Berrigan">Ted Berrigan</a></strong></div>