1.

Waiting are they? Let them wait. This is the last of the earth!

Codeine. . .bourbon, I am

Content.

It’s just that I

can’t sleep. Boats

are knocking,

boats against the past. I

worry. Don’t

let poor Nelly starve: I understand,

my worn tongue reeling,

why the earth is suffocating

and why not beg,

Swear to make them cut me open so I won’t be buried alive.

YOU HAVE FALLEN INTO ART – RETURN TO LIFE.

2.

Why not rouse up your plague rats and send them to die in a happy city Why not?

Why am I hemorrhaging? Why not?

Why me? Why not?

And it’s like he’s plinking into my ear the secret of double pigments, prophetic sonnets, the refuge of art (O! Blonde bombshelter.) and God Bless,

God Damn.

Dancing, dancing we say that we will never die, we are cold steel falling faintly through the universe, faintly falling just

3.

don’t ever tell anybody anything. A long time, I’ve been missing

Everybody is haunted by waters. It’s the static on a CB radio and it’s drizzle in the cupboards, inside lungs.

It’s raining, mama. Can you hear the rain? Can you hear the rain?