I never thought it might be illegal.

Keep your shirt from touching

your damp back; no one needs to know

you sweat while dancing but the truth is

like a flying kite,

tugging infrequently. A view that we cannot understand

except through jingling didactic simile.

A line of people wave at the fog-

packed panorama window at Einhoven.

I just would like it if you kept calmer track.

How and why do you still care?

Our southern diplomats manifest of right talk

and I yearn to hear as good

as talk is

here. I write to you lines at a time,

as I dress, between each article of clothing.

I am on my way. How much restraint

is your content under if you bear

to hazard the guessing? Oh Lord,

I’ll be here, all weak. The hum you hear is how you know

I’m planning to get some work done. Is there any

situation would you prefer aside from the sight of

terrible things for which you feel vaguely

responsible. I feel well. I do want to keep coming back

as sacred, to the old domain. A quick peep in

on how the body comes into the text. Then guess

correctly which part tanks when you drink

milk too rapidly. Keeping two fingers to your temple

I wait, as you sleep, thus

discomfited. I am there when you awake,

but I can’t tell white girls apart.