For two months / I have not written / a word.

In the drawing room you sat shaven / among cleavages rank with sweat.

Lifting his head from the paper he noticed her orange hair.

I miss a social life. I know I made myself for that.

Dear fellow gull, a question or two for you to answer, if you care to.

once more I had entered the stream of things to become part of America

Somewhere on a manicured street / a poem is waiting

I have just read / a poem I wrote ten years ago. I like it.

Everyone is dead, has been dead / for a long time

A man is teaching his son to play the piano. He tells the boy, the piano loves to be touched.