Home Is So Sad. It Stays As

Slowly Light Strengthens, And The Room Takes Shape. It Stands Plain As A Wardrobe, What We Know, Have Always Known, Know That We Can't Escape, Yet Can't Accept. One Side Will Have To Go. Meanwhile Telephones Crouch, Getting Ready To Ring In Locked-up Offices, And All The Uncaring Intricate Rented World Begins To Rouse. The Sky Is White As Clay, With No Sun. Work Has To Be Done. Postmen Like Doctors Go From House To House.

I Have Wished You Something None Of The Others Would.

Clearly Money Has Something To Do With Life.

Sex Means Nothing--just The Moment Of Ecstasy, That Flares And Dies In Minutes.

... Everyone Young Going Down The Long Slide To Happiness, Endlessly.