{"content":[{"text":"I \n Tom Wayman \n LAST ELEGY: FOR LEW WELCH","bbox":{"left":0.114557,"top":0.194836,"width":0.611496,"height":0.07888}},{"text":"\"The great Winemaster is almost a \n magician to the bulk of his Tribe, \n to his Peers he is only accurate. \n 'He knows the grape so well,' they say, \n 'He turned into a vine.'\" \n Courses \n - Lew Welch,","bbox":{"left":0.38096,"top":0.344022,"width":0.4165919999999999,"height":0.13585999999999998}},{"text":"This is the last elegy I am going to write. \n I've had it with praise for the dead.","bbox":{"left":0.11962,"top":0.523394,"width":0.448022,"height":0.036748}},{"text":"Hemingway's fingers shake on the shotgun ... \n Malcolm Lowry finishes another bottle ... \n Weldon Kees closes his car door near the Golden Gate Bridge ...","bbox":{"left":0.11962,"top":0.57466,"width":0.717206,"height":0.05722400000000005}},{"text":"I never understood and I don't now. \n Hundreds of attics full of poets writing what they believe will be \n \"found on the body after death\". \n Lines that hopefully their landlady burns in disgust when she goes \n through their pockets for the back rent.","bbox":{"left":0.11962,"top":0.645909,"width":0.7159949999999999,"height":0.09843100000000005}},{"text":"For me, there is more joy in my friends \n working their way through lay-offs and how to get laid \n and a good recipe for spaghetti sauce \n than in any dead men, however righteous.","bbox":{"left":0.118645,"top":0.758518,"width":0.594795,"height":0.07752899999999996}},{"text":"when I drive around town and see a pimply army jacket \n freedom or death \n scrawling on a wall, I want to leap out \n poetry and life, poetry and life \n and make him write ...","bbox":{"left":0.119119,"top":0.850446,"width":0.615668,"height":0.05835699999999999}},{"text":"42","bbox":{"left":0.05443,"top":0.947796,"width":0.024667,"height":0.031828999999999996}}],"images_bbox":[],"images_bbox_not_text_overlap":[]}