The time is after dinner. Cigarettes
Glow on the lawn;
Glasses begin to tinkle; TV sets
Have been turned on.
The moon is brimming like a glass of beer
Above the town,
And love keeps her appointments “Harry’s here!”
“I’ll be right down.”
But the pale stranger in the furnished room
Lies on his back
Looking at paper roses, how they bloom,
And ceilings crack.
Painting by Raymond Pettibon