when i’m in someone else’s new york style apartment
i like virtually anything that’s playing on the fm radio
when i’m at home i can’t find anything that i like

We were wise to say.
Goodbye, cheap lamps

Serene and purple twilight of the South
the wind-distorted olives
so dim beside the road

We cannot fight on this glue
give us the bread we are used to

For her size the moor hen
lays a large egg
and many of them

I hate my disordered
backyard fence

I love crystal fringe on a dance frock
and the ripple of light as you pass
in a plain little chemisette bodice

A cherry colored picture hat
of Tagal straw, its only trimming
a black and white big windmill bow

where droop the little ivy shoots
the sun slants down to kiss
the heaps of mellow headstones

The search for health and pleasure
leads to no fairer clime