Many are the deceivers:
The suburban matron,
proper in the supermarket,
list in hand so she won't suddenly fly,
Perhaps the earth is floating,
I do not know.
Perhaps the stars are little paper cutups
made by some giant scissors,
Not that it was beautiful,
but that, in the end, there was
a certain sense of order there;
Somebody who should have been born
When I was a child
there was an old woman in our neighborhood whom we called The Witch.
All day she peered from her second story
from behi ...
'Do you like me?'
I asked the blue blazer.
Silence bounced out of his books.
Because there was no other place
to flee to,
I came back to the scene of the disordered senses,
A shoe with legs,
a stone dropped from heaven,
he does his mournful work alone,
Some women marry houses.
It's another kind of skin; it has a heart,
The town does not exist
except where one black-haired tree slips
up like a drowned woman into the hot sky.