Into a simple abandon that pulls through

            into a fountain, deserted

all the fog, the rain, the cool latitude

the water on the streets, cold cold

a warm fremissant immaculate shell

            dormant bewilderment and eternal timidity

for youth again slips through

a soft light under the restless skylights

a soft breeze unnamed

            searching yourself intermittently

when everything that is unmasked

perturbs sleep and a coming and going of

colors impressions scents even reassuring voices

            there is hardly room

in this gloom, searching for

the literature of everything

magnificent brilliance restful effulgence

the fire always going out on me

out on me again with the reoccurrence of idiocy

with the circling slow circling air

the catchy new melodies on the radio

the last night out when all symptoms loose broke

under the bleeding sky, the melancholy solitude at sunset

in a placid place in the soothing yellow autumn

nature alone cannot do anything

nature alone can do nothing

in the angst inflaming the senses.