Even Without Wars, Life Is Dangerous.

Poets Are Sitting In My Kitchen. Why Do These Poets Lie? Why Do Children Get Children And Did You Hear What It Said?

I Sit At My Desk Each Night With No Place To Go, Opening The Wrinkled Maps Of Milwaukee And Buffalo, The Whole U.s., Its Cemeteries, Its Arbitrary Time Zones, Through Routes Like Small Veins, Capitals Like Small Stones.

It Would Be Pleasant To Be Drunk.

And The Aura Of You Remains, Remains, Remains...

All Day I've Built A Lifetime And Now The Sun Sinks To Undo It.