Happily at home amidst a blizzardy haphazard of papers dawn steeps the window with visionary promise for the entire apartment complex. I am barren as you are barren, in a world replete with objects indifferent to our crux; I am broken and unwise as you yourself are broken, and both unclear and nobody objects. Its always a trifle embarrassing to be caught in the act, to be alive isn't it? Coping with jaundice and child-proof tops, waking out of the same problematical nightmare at five as if sleep were the body's occasion for jeering at the brain, which imposes its ordinary articulate order fetishistically every day on the bombardment of senses selling us fictions while telling it all, reporting odors and heartthrobs with equal indifference. God bless the gods, apathetic executives of the irrational who are powerless without our laughable bodies to cast even a third-rate thrill- er, and make of our unable lives their inarticulate movies. Discursive stanzas look like they're hurrying to the nowhere-somewhere of a formal fountain's repetitive static whiteness. What is left to say, is there anything? Let love be the last letter of the penultimate law righting us rigidly as a strapping father full of laughter when like every incertain curious infant thither we totter and yaw. And yet, with all of that said (so much) and (conceivably) registered in heart and in head by habit each day is only a day at play.... A lesson in how dowdy light becomes slowly a whole room and the grateful green leather chair emerged awaits patiently by the window its daily burden like a remembered word its definition. Its in this way that we have died already died and come to this life, two civil persons talking together sanely, quietly, long-windedly as an aqueduct hums. The world is full of sane sunlight and responsible landscapes not too impossible for believable humans to accomplish their unremarkable heights or average depths and whose prayers resemble steps. But first a brief sleep, first order of business, then work (not too late) may commence: every man must darkly his own unconscious Olympus propitiate as when a mountain, unexpectedly on the horizon alone rediscovers, without notice or noise its monumental poise.