Of that town
The woman sleeps in uncertain relief. Suspended, this little bed, quakes no more. I was upheld, rather like a drifting feather, nipped . His crescent laugh looks out to the end. The man who braced me, laughing - gone. The many hovering faces, flocks of voices all gone. Who told them these tales? Who placidly loves me so? Now I hear a tune composed of absolute air, Spring be me! A yellow gleam capers and podgy little fingers. ** Again! Trying again to meet; I flipped the titles in vain. Suspecting some dreams to be disguises, I pulled beards, pinched noses, gave them scrubs.. only to find myself blanketless, cold. ** Yesterday I was called to Crematorium. Grand old chapel. A grand coffin stood on a grand bier dressed rich, plum velvet. "Am I dead?" "No." "Then who is?" "None at the moment." "Who's coffin is that?" "None's. Strange fancies. So we lay every body in The Coffin fo