Explore "The Sardonic Arm" by Maxwell Bodenheim on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Must I see a gutter / In which the hurried machination / Of water carries bits of apple peeling / To some profound, obscure intelligence? / And if the gutter is to me / Merely the masterful travel of brown / Speeding with odds and ends of red, / To lend importance to a dream, / Will this belief decrease my size / When death reproves my inefficient limbs?
I walk upon a street / Where trite deceptions glide / Ceaselessly.