YOU THINK IT'S
NICE BEING SO LONELY?
Every little thing needing to be done? Prancing out of
style, walking a la mode? My pant legs are soldered,
shut and stiff are my manners; I have for nothing nothing.
In the store window, a bicycle. Not for the bicycle's
sake but for the fact of selling Spring clothes. I feel
like that bicycle. Just put aside, there, for other
reasons. Solomon Spencer's Fine Women's Clothing:
The fake library and the tennis match in the Brooks
Brothers window. Everything not real carries no
compassion - just instead a lackadaisical mien.
Brother Edwardo, tun my old radio off - the sound
waves are twisted, the message is garbled : are
they bombing London again?
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