Though the sky still was partly light
Over the campsite clearing
Where some men and boys sat eating

—with only the cavernous house as a witness.

It nudges you from your shallow sleep,
it whispers love-mockeries.

As if intensity were a virtue we say
good and. Good and drunk. Good and dead.
What plural means is everything

I came out of what was not my mother.
When my eyes cracked in the light,
and I looked up, it was at a germ-lamp,

Your “yet-to-be-dismantled” elms are few,
and by the time you read this may be gone.
In my own childhood we had one or two

Remember where I came from.
Think of a continent of sabled czars.
Leave your home. Let exile fill your mouth

One evening, after the sun (and not only the sun) had gone down in the west, the Jew went for a walk, that is to say he stepped out of his hut and went for a walk, the Jew, the son of a Jew, and his name went with him, his unspeakable name, as he walked and went on and went shuffling along

Still gripped by the illusion of an horizon;
overcome with the finality of a broken tooth;
suspecting that habits are the only salvation,

This movie deals with the epidemic of the way we live now. 
What an inane card player. And the age may support it. 
Each time the rumble of the age 

It’s Saturday afternoon at the edge of the world.
White pages lift in the wind and fall.
Dust threads, cut loose from the heart, float up and fall.