Grief, have I denied thee?
Grief, I have denied thee.

That robe or tunic, black gauze

Those groans men use
passing a woman on the street
or on the steps of the subway

All day I have written words:
My subject has been that. Words. 
And I am wrong. And the words.

I am the father of no country 
And can lie.
But whether mendacity 

Like dogs in Mexico,
furless, sore, misshapen,

arrives from laborious nowhere

Through a dark winter 
In a cold chambre de bonne 
I lay still and dreamt

Snow-white ray 
coal-black earth will 
swallow now. 

The time is. 
The air seems a cover, 
the room is quiet.

                                              twig stick A line of trees hard   branches above the roofs 

Alcoholic dream 
That run him 
                   out from home