Come again
The sun shines through the house
With vivid squeaks from coast to coast and
Television gone
A certain future is the predicament
Lust is in the toaster,
It’s the old recovering roaster,
Uncertain numbers, welking flowers,
Edging voices full of fear
There’s no watch for shed or tear or
Information call eighty-five thousand
Beat the blooming basketball
Like insolation bumps the fall
