no prison cell with waves of humanimal sound no rockets overhead, no brave and bloody battleground no posh night-club where sex and fruit vodkas abound
(silent: Ashland, Oregon) gasoline fumes in the warm wind, racing d.o.a. thoughts, nervous intersections smooth, affluent pavement wine and roses, young and old packed
Most birds have flown away skies are gray, and it's a cold wind in which the trees sway the tractor rusts in the shed and the farmer rusts in bed; the painter lays down his brush
squalid howling great bare trees tossing and tossing ice-cold raindrops pattering on windshields and tired wiper-blades, on fire-hydrants, on loose dogs, on cracked roads
the voyage to the spectacle shop the 12 tasks of the neurotic Lutheran electrician the conquest of the tax forms the Odyssian business-class plane trip from Tokyo