I'd gotten used to
fire, teenage stray a
conducting the afternoon, mouthing:
this hour will soon seem like a day.
Offend your dry idea;
it's all the same to me.
There was a time when we'd
take all pleasure into the ground.
Now it's a trick,
lying delicate to take a chance.
I'm not proud; those feelings as losses,
tragedies that run into the world.