07.01.15 - 10:06 a.m.
There's no root to pull up when the telephone's
in the air, Sylvia, Anne.
Tell me, what now? Worldly cohabitation is stifling; the freeways are clogged with crushing potential.
Comparing virtues is no use -- her
familiar flaxen hair, my whatever it was. They number
in hundreds, anyway. Simple, vehement, conventional.