Let us go then, you and I,
When the night-time is spread out next to the sky
Like a man laid out in bed on N2O;
Let us go, through these more-or-less cleared-out streets,
The half-heard, half-seen beats
Of too late nights in one-night beds of rest
And no good clams from crab shacks (not the best)
Streets that trail like a spat that has no end
To lead you to one huge, grand, strong, and big thought...
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and see who is it.
In the room, the girls come and go
With talk of old art that they know.
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