28 DECEMBER 1962, Page 21

Wracked birds in that nest Gape for the twirling worm.

They blind each other with naked elbows. Their claws are crumpled needles.

They gape for the spinning world.

They build from wrecks To be launched one day on the watery wind- flaws, lo guzzle smells and distance.

From an excrement of lies And a trash of past selves They will soar and swoop in a quickness of feathers, Makers of songs and corpses.

NORMAN maccato