I’ll be taking the furniture
 with me, of course
so furnish all that you’ll inure.
 Be the single source

Of all the mess, the dusty
 Desk—and coffee
Dry dewed with motes, thick voiced and husky
 That say, “Excuse me—”

when you look at them forlorn and cold,
 expressive, yet
for a cup of coffee very old
 and stiffly set.

Not that this is what you would do
 with coffee... or tea!
so as they do, I’ll say it, too,
 excuse me—

—You have a yen for clothes do you?
 Oh, just your stare:
your eye favors the closet to
 the window where

the extended leafy platform whose
 far away blooms
have simple drawn clouds’ evening hues
 by noon;

above the plateau, when you approach
 the window,
where the clouds really go,
 just coaxed the horizon low:

clouds! that uncoordinated stroll
 in each themselves
bowl their asymmetric knolls’
 on airy shelves.

There are practical facts to commend.
 But trains are plain...
instead I’ll take you past the bed—
 excuse the stain

from night sweats (and my disdain for
 doing laundry)
that my porous skin from inside pours
 in nighttime’s foundry;

or extruded from me by pressing dreams
 over my sleep space,
now stiff with vague enchanting ways’
 wine stain grace:

she that lent playing card appeal
 to potato chips;
magic or poker save one allele:
 thumb-on-card sift;

but that Hoyle rip resounded
 as I awoke;
the flirting that pleasantly mounted
 showed its hoax.

Insomnia and bad dreams are
 two separate things;
and it is insomnia by far
 that the day brings.

And I was inconsolable.
 ahem... ahem...
but my moods have their foils.
 What’s next then?

There’s the trees’ chaise lounge that look like clouds
 and then the clouds
and then, below, the street aloud
 with traffic sounds.