Cale Young Rice
(Who came out rather tired from trying to choose a new suit, and could not get it off his mind.)
PANTINGS
Pantings, Pantings, Pantings!
Gents' immanent furnishings!
On a mystic tide I ride, I ride,
Of the clothes of a million springs!
I take the train for the suburbs
Or I sweep from Pole to Pole,
But where is the window that holds them not,