What is it that do you make of this, floating by on antihistamines

While the monthly the tools and we these green days you get up out of your chair to go out and see a film.

With a tire iron George went and with him the wind

His checkbook blew open all the soft or brittle notes his affairs afire in the blast furnace.

These, those who sing for blood who sing for a flotilla of secretaries and more tire irons

A song the song they sing it seems to me the wind enters, comes between us to wash our feet our mouths

Doesn’t it? Then what, or bad or grey or I went to bed straight from the fields singing let me have their voluptuous coffin

Let the movie be of me with my arms raised above my head in a vineyard and sassy

Sassing the mouth of Jesus O don’t you remember the jeering the life or the dinner

In your simple house, a small city, you broke into my hands a chocolate cookie with almonds

It’s all on the film! Who’s into the city where rats bruise the clouds our mouths close around bruises

And if only then the ignobles the ministers rode in on the backs of mules with plantains in their laps and their wives seated behind.

Was it him then? Did the bank open and the wind enter on tip toe

To throw the dice in the vault with the bank guards and the day’s lunch sighing in the deposit boxes

And was it him? Do you still feel his grip on your shoulder?

In the back of your brain or where else a great fog rising from the humidor

Or when your body and when the ocean the tide comes in, one pleasant fisherman’s body landed with a thud in the fields

And an orange ruffy, with his fins pulled off only if then he was swimming in his blood and not yet a song

In the sewer, pouring out of the front of the Do you remember me? In these pants

When you were merely just an introduction to chinese food and before you stood in the store window modeling Bible scenes

Were you ever did you ever raise up the blinds on a bright morning and see a boat

Or two separate winds filling their pockets or then she turned aside to clean up after the birds.

Where did the two of them fall down at the end of the day? A mountain? Surely one soft year ago on the train

These for days passing factories and you bounced me on your knee while flowers and her vast concern the water

Where liquored up and gone flying a cessna is it easy to keep track of your own luggage?

Do both the winds do you forget all the villains the marching brass bands

Or are you the master of chinese food at last? The mortician the reincarnator hasn’t he

Or did you never write the papers never print of the flap before the fog the ocean your elegant romance?

Certainly you know for sure that I sort the mail. When I wish, I mail you a fish

And that’s when the world ends or isn’t milk a part of the sister of your dreams?

My promise I will use all the gloves you leave in my closets and perish by leaving your gloves!

There isn’t a pair of rocks kneeling or do we understand one another? I’ll have he has when will it be finished?