Something is amiss. We have searched everywhere, Under card tables, coffee houses, bookstores. Petulant pretty things. Bome thin and vaporous, volatile and incestuous. Take now, for example, That there is no heat in our blood. We are cool and blue. There is nothing as cold as our arms. Something is not as it should be. I have looked everywhere, Under feet, under stoops, doorways, and rotted fruits. I have rubbed and worried away this thing Until it is raw and red, Nervous and chilled... It is not so, It is not this hedonistic. I should think, that after a time, We would be getting used to this. It is not so. We are nervous...Stomach fluid...nerves, I am getting chills. It will be okay if we erase the memory And put into the hole something white and sweet. Take, for example, that our arms have got no veins. Cold-breasted babies fill our thoughts. There is nothing so cold As that which occupies our hearts, hands, and minds.