La, la, la! At first we thought “Antonio” was a green dragon fly, but, finally, by exercising a bit of common sense, we know that Tony is a locust and left his “skeleton,” or “shell,” behind; and that Mrs. Tony must have subsisted on the “leavings.”
Oh, this nut sundae, chocolate fudge, marshmallow whip vers libre poetry! Isn’t it just too lovely? Snap! “Into the snap-dragon throat of desire, Flew Antonio.” Honestly now, Tony, don’t you wish the lady had kept her mouth shut?
We should like to comment upon these remarks, but surely they are too good to spoil.
A Boy, Chicago:
I am a boy sixteen years old, and one could not expect me to know much about poetry—especially free verse. But I have heard of your magazine as a magazine that was ready to print what all kinds of people thought. So I have written a little verse—it is not a poem—telling you something about what is going on inside my mind, for these matters trouble every boy’s mind, although you may think that we are light-minded at my age.
BLINDNESS
I suppose I must be blind.
People say continually that the world is a wicked place;
I hear them talking about it all the time.
They say our city streets reek