I am suspicious of my country; what we are
The contaminated hate each other the most
Her Nembutal Bed
Oh, what a meal I will make of you!
I have left my street
There is no time here; time prefers the shore, the mountains
I am not sure why, but we are stripping doors
Ten, and a bus thunders in, stinking of rubber
Meanwhile, back at the ranch
Even as she kills you, the sea is indifferent
When she is sad, she thinks of old houses
And if Disney had discovered religion
Sit down, breathe slowly, talk. Maybe we'll play chess
Underground, the light is bright: what comes?
The sound of a soft, felt, clapper-less bell
How is perhaps?
I would like more boats in my life
before, it was better
I'll go out and come in again
Why women talk of soft things
Soldiers are buying coffee
She would have preferred more "tragic"