A Lost Work of T.S. Eliot Ness

Rhapsody on a  Windy Night Sometime in the Middle of the month towards the end of the year. I think they call those particular monthly days the Ides don't they? I mean I could be incorrect, maybe that's only for March, no this was definitely written somewhere between October and December, I remember I was sporting my long johns that certain evening.

                                        (a working title)

                         

                              

         

                           

     Twelve o'clock. Where the hell's Gary Cooper?
     Along the reaches of the street
     Held in a lunar synthesis,
     Whispering lunar incantations

     be vewy qwiet it's wabbit season!
    
     And all its clear relations,
     Its divisions and precisions,
     Every street lamp that I pass
     Beats like a fatalistic drum, or

     Buddy Rich's clam notes
     And through the spaces of the dark

     And the corners of my misty mind
     Midnight shakes the memory, it's 8 GB
     As a madman shakes a dead geranium.

     Why Geranium whyyyy!

     Half-past one and still checking my inbox

     Why didn't Agatha answer me?
     The street lamp sputtered,
     The street lamp muttered,
     The street lamp said,

     
     "Regard that woman
     Who hesitates toward you in the light of the     door
     Which opens on her like a grin.
     You see the border of her dress
     Is torn and stained with sand,

     
     And you see the corner of her eye
     Twists like a crooked pin." 

     That's a euphemism for my ... you know.

     The memory throws up high and dry
     A crowd of twisted things;
     A twisted branch upon the beach
     Eaten smooth, and polished

     Doesn't anybody know about

     my twig allergies?
     As if the world gave up
     The secret of its skeleton,
     Stiff and white but loosy Goosey too
     A broken spring in a factory yard,
     Rust that clings to the form that the

     strength has left the buildng
     Hard and curled and ready to snap.

     Half-past two,
     The street-lamp said,
     "Remark the cat which flattens itself in the gutter,
     Slips out its tongue
     And devours a morsel of rancid butter."
     So the hand of the child, automatic,
     Slipped out and pocketed a toy 

     I could see nothing behind that child's eye.
     I have seen eyes in the street

     I was careful not to tread upon them too
     Trying to peer through lighted shutters,
     And a crab one afternoon in a pool,

     Somebody forgot there is no P allowed 

     in the OOL
     An old crab with barnacles on his back,
     Gripped the end of a stick which I held him.

     Half-past three, 
     The lamp sputtered,
     The lamp muttered in the dark.

     The lamp hummed: bzzzz bzzzz
     "Regard the moon, don't leave out the sun

       you!
     La lune ne garde aucune rancune,rocky rancun
     She winks a feeble eye,but the other one is

     far wonkier
     She smiles into corners.
     She smooths the hair of the grass, it needs

     a hot oil treatment
     The moon has lost her memory. My cousin

     Moe recommended a good lobotomist

     A washed-out smallpox cracks her face,

     hey -we told her lay off the chocs but

     does the dame ever listen?
     Her hand twists a paper rose, 

     she had some multiple origamis 
     That smells of dust and old Cologne,and

     by that I mean the Italian commune
     She is alone With all the old nocturnal

     smell - can't go out with that whiff

     in the afternoon, can you now

     Well it's her own fault really 

     That's why Greta was alone too

     P.U.

     That cross and cross across her brain.
     The reminiscence comes
     Of sunless dry geraniums

     those are delectable, yum
     And dust in crevices,
     Smells of chestnuts in the streets
     And female smells in shuttered rooms

     yay vinegar and roses
     And cigarettes in corridors
     And cocktail smells in bars.

     sausages.

     The lamp said,
     "Four o'clock, my cuppa's cold again
     Here is the number on the door. 4561999
     Memory! Oh no I would prefer to forget
     You have the key, no I had the key
     The little lamp spreads a ring on the stair,
     Mount.
     The bed is open; the tooth-brush hangs on        ye olde wall, you realize 

       i used it this morning

      to clean the inside of the vacuum
     Put your shoes at the door, sleep, prepare f     or life."

     The last twist of the knife.