Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring Intricate rented world begins to rouse. The sky is white as clay, with no sun. Work has to be done. Postmen like doctors go from house to house. They shake their heads.
Dusk brims the shadows.
Teach me the way things go. It and finding out clash. I said, Oh yes please, And sat down to wait. The bestial visor, bent in By the blows of what happened to happen. In this way I spent youth, Tracing the trite untransferable Truss-advertisement, truth.