Winters will not, will not spring , not summer
And even fall that were once , forget it
And even the wind carries the questions, not answers
Fleeing soldiers , sailors run , running poets
Carry placards , and machines, and machine guns
And scooters and ships and planes
Run grandmother bear pillows, mattresses are
Run bastards and prostitutes , and motherfuckers
Millionaires and pioneers, and Octobrists
And the deputies , and the Democrats are running somewhere
Run Semites , cosmopolitans and patriots
Run somewhere where so bitching want something
Run , boy , run from here to there , somewhere where
Maybe something , maybe a miracle might summer
There, where the sun is not a drop of pus , and a drop of light
Run away, run with me, and grief is not present
