this is preposterous.
the sound of walls.
falling apart.
floating like brick-waves.
clashing in odd volumes.
tipping over old measures.
landing softly in fountains of springs.
almost silent for a while.
building up, as of itself, once more
the strangest sheds in the strangest shapes.
a home for the most beautiful gob on legs.

this is preposterous.
we will not have it. ... more