farewell foolish objects i ve lain in bed all day but ive written one poem and up i m now looking out the window and like a novelist might say drunk the clouds are coming at me like scullery maids with dish pans and bed pans in their hands something that holds a gritty dirty water but i m a drunken non novelist but in clear shape now here sits the bottle of beer im warmly thinking in a kind of foam shaped idle fancy working closely but all i can stoke up are squares and circles which do not fit so oh well i ll tell you the truth again in bed i read another article on d thomas and someday i ll get lucky and sit around and buy a french horn and a tame eagle and i ll sit on the porch all day a white porch always in the sun one of those white porches with green vines all around and i will read about dylan and d h until my eyes fall out of my head for and i can play the french horn blind but even now it gets dark or the evening s singing tonight it s bones down here or the stars up there somebody rattling the springs in denver so another puker can be born i think everything is a sheet of sun and the best of everything is myself walking through it wondering about the pure nerve of the life thing going on after the jails the hospitals the factories the good dog the brainless butterfly but now i m back at the window there s an opera on the radio and a woman sits in a chair to my left saying over and over again brock grosh grot and shes holding a book in her hand how to learn russian easily but theres nothing really you can do easily live or die or accept fame or money or defeat it s all hard the opera says this the dead bird the dead countries the dead love the man shot because somebody thought he was an elk the elk shot because somebody thought it was an elk all the pure nerve of going on this woman wanting to speak russian myself wanting to get drunk but we need something to eat grime cyat grime meet says the woman in russian so i figure shes hungry and we haven t eaten in a couple of hours glom blaym turkey park im park she says and i walk over and put on my pants and i m going out to get something the forests are far away and i m no good with the bow and arrow and somebody sings on the radio farewell foolish objects all i can do is walk into a grocery store and pull out a wallet and hope that its loaded and this is about how i waste my sunday the rest of the week goes better because there s something or somebody telling me what to do and although it seems madness almost everybody is doing it whatever it is so now if you ll excuse me she s eating an orange now i will put on my shoes and shirt and get out of here it ll be better for all of us