He’s of the sort that crumples two bills in his pocket and dangles from a chandelier in only a tee-shirt. You can see his penis very easily.

We have neighbors and I’ve seen a dog or two small little things like Scotties barking or howling at a fire engine yesterday

But he’s still holding onto the chandelier. A saint, his mouth a saint

Do they sing in their clean hallways or are the lights mostly off do you become accustomed to the empty buildings

Ze sky eees blue. Your clock is up against your sternum. Or there below your esophagus. I like a goose in the pond it makes me cry

To think of it. It’s probably long dead now, how long do they live? On bread crumbs My memory, mine.

I’ve never seen a goose fall over as drunk or ill, it might not be christian or revival enough

For the meetings standing up around a table looking at a map

A path between the two mountains.

Who is she that she comes in so late with demands and a blow torch for bank robbing

He opens he’s a sucker for her.

The bellhop gets no tip that night just a forlorn look with confusion and uncertainty because he seemed sincere, he just now before dinner must have come from church

I have but outside of a cage a songbird. Put my clothes on over my pyjamas.

Everyone’s tired. He’s kissing me, at least every night tomorrow night we all go out dancing.