Destruction follows from the first premise.
In the sunsets you can see it happening.

The invitations were returned
or people arrived on the wrong evening,
so your worst fears were fulfilled

Only the dead don’t know
what heaven’s like. For the rest
extrapolation is possible.

As long as I struggle to float above the ground
and fail, there is reason for this poetry.
On the stone back of the Ludovici throne, Venus

The woman is preparing her body for sleep.
She hangs the hair forward
and it almost touches her feet.

What false color, a fickle color, whatever color will do.
Point us at a sunset,
and we are golden. Open us to the world, and we are blue.

Marley was rocking on the transport’s stereo
and the beauty was humming the choruses quietly.
I could see where the lights on the planes of her cheek

It could happen again. It will.
But this time the geography will be more final,
more certain of the rain and its echo

Although I was tenacious, I never learned
  the wisdom and will of tenacity;
Although I was persistent, and praised for persistence,

Look, Mitterand baby, your telegram
of condolence to Yves
Montand tells it like it is