The original Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? was still upon the lavatory wall when first he began to lounge by night at The Figaro. In later years he realized he should have gotten his art restorer friend at the Met to sneak in late one woozy night and to photograph it in situ, to date it, and then to remove it and frame it, as a literary / cultural relic of enormous worth, say, to a rich Texas library collecting Albeenia.

I don’t give
a pound of
mule mucous

I give up:
I bleed I must know.
Grant me the

Everything about
a human
is doomed