Yes I’m sure there’s something ghastly that has me writing to my clergymen or to Saint Peter

And after several years of ozone exposure the reply comes to me from overseas.

If this is not what you see or if the clock falls on your tailor and he arrives thereafter in the company of a vampire

With their twelve dogs and a small number of important If I look up and the wind

And this city has its hands in plain sight on the dashboard approached by a fiery light

Oh I’ll probably open another bottle another window and float out to the pier

On a tugboat. The broken doors, the central booking station, the empty

And these orange towels. Who’s making money off of her dreams while she’s in the shower?

I open the oboe’s case before the porter comes by to clean out my car and to see the Rhône through my windows,

That’s all. Are you overhead this evening with one of your firemen

Or the water mains crack open the pavement and your dog climbs a staircase not to drown?

There isn’t anyone crossing the Atlantic tonight. It’s too chilly.

My shoes and aren’t they pretty and then once over drinks the deputy mayor

Gave me a jar of marmalade. I’ll never or maybe only once forget, and there were horses at the bottom

When I’d finished it. You leave the party on tip toes and violets

Or an old boat full of chestnuts dances under your fingertips. O palatial

Or shortly I was drinking from a wine barrel and singing about your hair and blue movies and blue theaters

I’d broken into in Tripoli. An airline stewardess caught me crying on the staircase the balcony

In her bosom her sock drawer. Old older birds are chatting day and night

And O Holy Bingo can’t you or is Isabel wrapped in a caftan with the chieftain?

He might be mute, but when it rains his weather vains compete for the tenderness of visiting wrens.

Only an ocean can assist me in surgery or the weather forecast. My school of salmon

And once I was swimming in her bosom in her volkswagen in traffic, the people nearby

Are you going to ring my doorbell in spring with a bouquet of poloponies? A cast iron

And then I pull off and drive alone down the highway, liquored up? Or maybe making my way

As only a passenger could. You bounce over the hillside or here’s a store for crushing atmospheres and crowning celestial bodies.