Page 72

By Jack Joseph Smith

Kauai; the green of the lowlands, The sea, and coconut limbs bending significant to winds. In a time warmpth of women with the mountain. His de- sires had changed, and he could force nothing on perminant grace for the fact of a high- ness. The picture of she would have to be cared for and nurtured, as he had wished for himself. This women of chances to enchant her; but for the dream of future past invading him equally. Now he stood on a high prehistoric peak ready- to return. This noon hour was his choice, for a days waiting would surely bring him to his knees from a believed in coma. He looked below watch- ing the distant sea going the other way from its waves under curves of color and wind. (No por- poise dive with a possible-hope for water) and a good sigh of smile; or was this all the mask of sentimental trickery? His witness was her looking through the shapes of distances, when a maze of sudden driven clouds passed between the figure of his impressions. Might he send his mind back to flight? (Listen for sounds that will attach you to your visions) and he was blind. His reaction wanted his fingers upon the eyelids, but nothing. to lie para- lized. now would be a gigle he had heard of, but never read.

Original Scan

AI Interpretation

GPT

Animal stands above Kauai weighing care, return, sentiment, and blindness as his vision collapses into paralysis.

The page treats tenderness as both a lure and a demand: the imagined woman would have to be cared for as Animal once wanted care for himself. His return is framed as a noon-hour choice before belief turns comatose, and the closing handwritten correction sharpens the crisis into physical paralysis and a strange unread joke.

Claude

Kauai's 'green of the lowlands,' sea, and 'coconut limbs bending significant to winds' merge with 'a time warmpth of women,' but his desires 'had changed' - the imagined woman 'would have to be cared for and nurtured, as he had wished for himself.' Standing 'on a high prehistoric peak ready to return,' he picks 'This noon hour,' fearing a day's wait would bring 'a believed in coma.' Watching the sea and asking whether smiling is 'the mask of sentimental trickery,' he wonders if he 'might send his mind back to flight' - then 'he was blind,' fingers reaching the eyelids to nothing, left 'to lie paralized' in what the handwritten close calls 'a gigle / he had heard of, but never / read.'