AboutThe memory throws up high and dry
A crowd of twisted things;
A twisted branch upon the beach
Eaten smooth, and polished
As if the world gave up
The secret of its skeleton,
Stiff and white.
A broken spring in a factory yard,
Rust that clings to the form that the strength has left
Hard and curled and ready to snap.
*From Rapsody on a Windy Night, 1917. In: Seitz, William: The Art of Assemblage, Museum of Modern Art, New York 1961.