In a dim room above the freightyards, next to an old brass bed, an angel is taking off his wings. He winces a little as he eases the straps that run down into his chest: the beat of the wings is the beat of the heart.

The world is your lawyer.
Pawn-shop pearls.
Hair like telegraph wire.

I have the last pack of cigarettes in the world; but no matches. I am in the bedroom, which has an enormous window, so I have to keep my body between the cigarettes and the window. Everybody is in the other room with the matches. I try to think of some disguised way of asking for matches without giving away my secret.

 A man rents two bears. One of the bears wears a little blue fez; on his vest is his name: ‘Bruno.’ The other bear wears a red fez. His vest says ‘Hugo.’ The man takes the bears home with him.

This is why
when air gushes between mountains
we describe the wind

we bolted toward the limits of the earth.
Then fell

Like knives,
the mountains around me sharpen,

(1.1)            The world's the total sum of all the facts,
                        which means a poor account of human
                           acts:

A fence. Chestnut trees. Bindweed. God.
A spider web, the hiding place
of first cause, and the thick grass:

Night, an alien city, I roamed
a street with no name.
Stone steps submerged me deeper