The character, there on a Hollywood
plateau OK he looks a lot like me.
OK, he expresses his momentary joy:
he hasn't had to rehearse his role.
Freeway freeway freeway.
Blocks of houses, buildings turn
all eyes. There had been a massacre.
Close your doors
women, bitter sleep
will fill your nerves,
water and sand wore
But I'll barely sing
so that your pain not
impinge on your sleep;
Do not ask
if the wind trailing
along the peaks
fans a hearth;
Brush between your teeth, naked
you'll come out, and begin laughing
about toothpaste. Much commotion.
Cooking pot consecrated to the stars
the glasses which we raise then,
we empty. And neither the first no.
And for a hundred years
he has shut his eyes.
Did you have to leave?
The children play outside.
They don't stop yelling.