Page 6

By Jack Joseph Smith

But I sware every romantic plant in the world comes down to the bottom of my george to sleek up the tears Faulkner because my aunt, told me he was from Mississippi but I did not read the Bible because I thought Jesus was from West Virginia My arms away like a movie in the wind sway I see the universe even in the daylight I have tried hard to touch myself high and low with and without music The dog is on the porch or set inside of the front door He propably know loneliness better than I The Thunder of AND All About daylight I HAVE ALREADY lived the First half of the Bible, and I Am not Thirty years old, PAUSE for Thought of being

Original Scan

AI Interpretation

GPT

This page mixes literary memory, religion, loneliness, and self-scrutiny, turning the typed poem into something half confession and half margin-argument with itself.

The base poem moves through Faulkner, Mississippi, Jesus, touch, and the dog on the porch, while the handwritten additions feel like the speaker refusing to leave the first draft alone. The result is unstable in a useful way: private thought keeps interrupting whatever more orderly poem was there before.

Claude

The Faulkner aunt from Mississippi; Jesus thought to be from West Virginia; the first half of the Bible already lived before thirty. The author's spelling `george` for gorge is preserved. The page stacks cosmology and biography without a bridge.