BROKEN AT THE
Here is the finish : the length of another
field. The unblemished crowd, I see, seems
cheering still. A roar for something again.
The vestibule of Time is just a place I wait -
long the days and long the hours I put in.
I want to write a note home, to say I want
to come, home, be home, once more. The
feeling I get is that all the readers are dead
and gone; with only a vapid stipulation left,
of a weak and useless understanding.