The wind is west, the season, fall, The time is now but also then, And some men wait while other men Watch fiercely westward, watching all And seeing nothing, nothing but The things of which they have been told. The sun is weak, the wind is cold, And something – they do not know what…
In the country perhaps some rooster or another crows on Monday morning (the 15th? the 22nd?) This particular sound reminds me that I haven’t changed my pants since Monday Between the rising and the setting of the sun I’ve forgotten my old friends. translated by George Kimball
she had a nice way of swimming brilliant but awkward boobies bobbling it was her one redeeming feature she introduced him to many things which cost a lot of money
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