II
Some, but not all things 
have happened already. Where I’ve put away my wardrobe—
We can all wear hats 
For heads and wear cereal boxes for hats
 and eat hats with spoons and milk,
Neat, she says, a book I’ve read before
and asleep in corners.  What if it were slightly sour?
There is Death, playing  poker,     
Woody Allen, in the grass.
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