![Transcription Center logo](/themes/custom/tc_theme/assets/image/logo.png)
This transcription has been completed. Contact us with corrections.
64 bcdfghjklmnpqrstw [[strikethough]] Sunday, March 4, 1928 Tuesday [[/strikethrough]] Monday, April 21 Wet Paint on Your Sleeve You shouldn't have leaned against the paint You should not have taken note You should have learned long ago to feignt Indifference to smudges on your coat Truly you should never have given me leave To get something to wipe it clean — Because I loved you most when from your sleeve I rubbed [[strikethrough]] the paint [[/strikethrough]] away what paint had been — there's intimacy in benzine ——! 65 Monday, March 5, 1928 Pride Weakly I stay here, completely tied To this prosaic, deaden life by pride [[strikethrough]] And [[/strikethrough]] In work, [[/strikethrough]] lay [[/strikethrough]] desire to do something real before I die. And yet these bonds seem futile things When compared to what life brings to those who leave such ruts as these in which I Have fallen. Yet I cannot do What I should like ... Go with you And run through rain and laugh into the sky I'm too absorbed in time, [[strikethrough]] and [[/strikethrough]] routine To leave this life as [[?souethy]] that has been And all the comment and opinions of [[?thou]] would defy! [[strikethrough]] was [[?sure]] I didn't miss you And I went through the day's routine - Glancing same [[?thys]] through the tissue Of what the mist and rain had been, At precious dandelions in the grass, And on the blades enormous dreg balls of dew. But I was wrong. I'm ''?]] across - There's nayght left to look forward to. [[/strikethrough]]