the midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of
life a nightmare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon,
suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grind-ings and migraines of
China under junk-with-drawal in Newark's bleak furnished room,
railroad yard wondering where to go, and went, who lit cigarettes in
boxcars boxcars racketing vibrated at their feet in Kansas, who loned
it through the icy streets obsessed with a sudden Manhattan,