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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