20

Holt (hants) in the ridges & the furrows,
salute which is in the wrong place
the trembling of this chapter.
We must go wide in the badland
& split & rotate
in the foveam.
Let me on this cornfield!
Give me back my dog foot
& split & rotate
& dance on my stump with a maiden.
I, holly, hants on your fingers,
changed out of a stocking in the open.
She, Holly, she lay in the closing in her trouses.