Home is so sad. It stays as it wa
Shaped in the comfort of the last
As if to win them back. Instead,
Of anyone to please, it withers so
Having no heart to put aside the t

Marrying left yor maiden name disu
Its five light sounds no longer me
Your voice, and all your variants
For since you were so thankfully c
By law with someone else, you cann

Boys dream of native girls who bri
Whatever they are,
As bribes to teach them how to exe
Sixteen sexual positions on the sa
This makes them join (the boys) th

Walking around in the park
Should feel better than work:
The lake, the sunshine,
The grass to lie on,
Blurred playground noises

The little lives of earth and form
Of finding food, and keeping warm,
Are not like ours, and yet
A kinship lingers nonetheless:
We hanker for the homeliness

Words as plain as hen—birds’ wings
Do not lie,
Do not over—broider things —
Are too shy.
Thoughts that shuffle round like p

Swerving east, from rich industria
And traffic all night north; swerv
Too thin and thistled to be called
And now and then a harsh—named hal
Workmen at dawn; swerving to solit

What are days for?
Days are where we live.
They come, they wake us
Time and time over.
They are to be happy in:

My mother, who hates thunder storm
Holds up each summer day and shake
It out suspiciously, lest swarms
Of grape—dark clouds are lurking t
But when the August weather break

If I were called in
To construct a religion
I should make use of water.
Going to church
Would entail a fording