gri_2003_m_46_b05_f06_004

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Transcribers

WINNER - 68711562 - hoskinml
68782882 - not-logged-in-cdb805197d909d123a3b
68802477 - illlookforit
68892428 - LibrarianDiva
69078514 - highc51239
69621022 - Zooniverse2017

WINNER - 68711562 - hoskinml

THE RESORT

Placid collapse of sky,
Pushing water to this flatness,
Dulling words to silence.

Succulent words and flashing signs
Are blackened and inert
Against the glaring sun.

Two clowns named Day and Moon
Worked for the Swanee tribe:
Black masks and white of words.

SUMMER

I can remember when the grass
Grew when I wasn't looking
Grew when I turned my back.

The white hats of tomorrow
Are tiny and high up
On the blue hat stand of the sky.

I remember how you lay still
As I looked at the grass
And had not moved when I returned.

ON HEROINES IN CERTAIN SOUTHERN WRITERS AND RO-MANTIC PAINTERS

Mostly the women are supposed to fall
Off columns, like a sculptured pediment
And on the ground yield to the common weeds.

In that oral south, all words and julip
Except for swinging negroes, porticoes
Lead upwards to a violated roof.

Or like a painter's timeless shore, the piers
Reduced to sections, scattered in the sand:
Only the dying footprints lead away.

The exercise of honour has fallen
Into disuse, its muscles are buried.
Only the machine of a torse
Afternoons the garden with a phallic shadow.

68782882 - not-logged-in-cdb805197d909d123a3b

THE RESORT

Placid collapse of sky,
Pushing water to this flatness,
Dulling words to silence.

Succulent words and flashing signs
Are blackened and inert
Against the glaring sun.

Summer

I can remember when the grass
Grew when I wasn't looking
Grew when I turned my back.

The white hats of tomorrow
Are tiny and high up
On the blue hat stand of the sky.

I remember how you lay still
As I looked at the grass
And had not moved when I returned.

ON HEROINES IN CERTAIN SOUTHERN WRITERS AND RO-MANTIC PAINTERS

Mostly the women are supposed to fall
Off columns like a sculptured pediment
And on the ground yield to the common weeds.

In that oral south, all words and julip,
Except for swinging negroes, porticoes
Lead upwards to a violated roof.

Or like a painter's timeless shore, the piere
Reduced to sections, scattered in the sand:
Only the dying footprints lead away.

The exercise of honour has fallen
Into disuse, its muscles are buried.
Only the machine of a torse
Afternoons the garden with a phallic shadow.

68802477 - illlookforit

THE RESORT
Placid collapse of sky,
Pushing water to this flatness,
Dulling words to silence.

Succulent words and flashing signs
Are blackened and inert
Against the glaring sun.

Two clowns named Day and Noon
Worked for the Swanee tribe:
black masks and white of words.

SUMMER

I can remember when the grass
Grew when I wasn't looking
Grew when I turned my back.

The white hats of tomorrow
Are tiny and high up
On the blue hat stand of the sky.

I remember how you lay still
As I looked at the grass
And had not moved when I returned.

ON HEROINES IN CERTAIN SOUTHERN WRITERS AND RO-
MANTIC PAINTERS

Mostly the women are supposed to fall
Off columns, like a sculptured pediment
And on the ground yield to the common weeds.

In that oral south, all words and julip,
Except for swinging negroes, porticoes
lead upwards to a violated roof.

Or like a painter's timeless shore, the piers
Reduced to sections, scattered in the sand:
Only the dying footprints lead away.

The exercise of honour has fallen
Into disuse, its muscles are buried.
Only the machine of a horse
Afternoons the garden with a phallic shadow.

68892428 - LibrarianDiva

THE RESORT
Placid collapse of sky,
Pushing water to this flatness.
Dulling words to silence.

Succulent words and flashing signs
Are blackened and inert.
Against the glaring sun.

Two clowns named Day and Noon
Worked for the Swanee tribe:
Black masks and white of words.

SUMMER
I can remember when the grass
Grew when I wasn't looking
Grew when I turned my back.

The white hats of tomorrow
Are tiny and high up
On the blue hat stand of the sky.

I remember how you lay still
As I looked at the grass
And had not moved when I returned.

ON HEROINES IN CERTAIN SOUTHERN WRITERS AND ROMANTIC PAINTERS
Mostly the women are supposed to fall
Off columns , like a sculptured pediment
And on the ground yield to the common/weeds.

In that oral south, all words and julip,
Except for swinging negroes, porticoes
Lead upwards to a violated rood.

Or like a painter's timeless shore, the piers
Reduced to sections , scattered in the sand:
Only the dying footprints lead away.

The exercise of honour has fallen
Into disuse, its muscles are buried.
Only the machine of a torso
Afternoons the garden with a phallic shadow.

69078514 - highc51239

THE RESORT
Placid collapse of sky,
Pushing water to this flatness,
Dulling words to silence.
Succulent words and flashing signs
Are blackened and inert
Against the glaring sun.
Two clowns named Day and Moon
Worked for the Swanee tribe:
Black masks and white of words.
SUMMER
I can remember when the grass
Grew when I wasn't looking
Grew when I turned my back.
The white hats of tomorrow
Are tiny and high up
On the blue hat stand of the sky.
I remember how you lay still
As I looked at the grass
And had not moved when I returned.
ON HEROINES IN CERTAIN SOUTHERN WRITERS AND ROMANTIC PAINTERS
Mostly the women are supposed to fall
Off colums, like a sculptured pediment
And on the ground yield to the common weeds.
In that oral south, all words and julip,
Except for swinging negroes, porticoes
Lead upwards to a violated roof.
Or like a painter's timeless shore, the piers
Reduced to sections, scattered in the sand:
Only the dying footprints lead away.
The exercise of honour has fallen
Into disuse, its muscles are buried.
Only the machine of a torse
Afternoons the garden with a phallic shadow.

69621022 - Zooniverse2017

THE RESORT

Placid collapse of sky
rushing water to this flatness,
Dulling words to silence.

Succulent words and flashing signs
Are blackened and inert
Against the glaring sun.

Two elements named Day and Moon
Worked for the Swanee tribe:
Black masks and white of words.

SUMMER

I can remember when the grass
Grew when I wasn't looking
Grew when I turned my back.

The white hats of tomorrow
Are tiny and high up
On the blue hat stand of the sky

I remember how you lay still
As I looked at the grass
And had not moved when I returned.

ON HEROINES IN CERTAIN SOUTHERN WRITERS AND RO-
MANTIC PAINTERS

Mostly the women are supposed to fall
Off columns, like a sculptured pediment
And on the ground yield to the common weeds.

In that oral south, all words and julip,
Except for swinging negroes, porticoes
Lead upwards to a violated roof.

Or like a painter's timeless shore, the piers
Reduced to sections, scattered in the sand:
Only the dying footprints lead away.

The exercise of honour has fallen
Into disuse, its muscles are buried.
Only the machine of a torso
Afternoons the garden with a phallic shadow.

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