The New York Times daily
            and a barrel of apples
            with one pear in the
            middle. Yes, and black
            and white photography.
            The demands of my bloodline,

            It's a goddamn blues guitar
            over the loud box. That
            sort of thing, like museum
            is a palindrome.
            It's that sort of thing
            that sorts things, the thing
            that sorts ­ like that weird
            character in that 1934
            french film or maybe
            like that lonely woman

                I wrote about her quite often,
                in silence, on the top of a
                snow capped hill.
                She used to say to me,
                "Why are people on magazines
                always smiling?