She Refused To Be Bored Chiefly Because

I Wish We Could Spend July By The Sea, Browning Ourselves And Feeling Water-weighted Hair Flow Behind Us From A Dive. I Wish Our Gravest Concerns Were The Summer Gnats. I Wish We Were Hungry For Hot Dogs And Dopes, And It Would Be Nice To Smell The Starch Of Summer Linens And The Faint Odor Of Talc In Blistering Summer Bath Houses ... We Could Lie In Long Citoneuse Beams Of The Five O'clock Sun On The Plage At Juan-les-pins And Hear The Sound Of The Drum And Piano Being Scooped Out To Sea By The Waves.

Love Is Bitter And All There Is, And That The Rest Is For The Emotional Beggars Of The Earth.

I Take A Sun Bath And Listen To The Hours, Formulating, And Disintegrating Under The Pines, And Smell The Resiny Hardihood Of The High Noon Hours. The World Is Lost In A Blue Haze Of Distances, And The Immediate Sleeps In A Thin And Finite Sun.

I Wish I Could Write A Beautiful Book To Break Those Hearts That Are Soon To Cease To Exist: A Book Of Faith And Small Neat Worlds And Of People Who Live By The Philosophies Of Popular Songs.

Nothing Could Have Survived Our Life.