The buildings, piled so casually
Behind each other, are “suggestions
Which, while only suggestions,
We hope you will take seriously.” Off into
The blue. Getting there is easier,
But then we hope you will come down.
There is a great deal on the ground today,
Not just mud, but things of some importance,
Too. Like, silver paint. How do you feel
About it? And, is this a silver age?
Yeah. I suppose so. But I keep looking at the cigarette
Burns on the edge of the sink, left over
From last winter. Your argument’s
Neatly beyond any paths I’m likely to take,
Here, or when I eventually leave here.