Swallows? How should I know?
I don’t even live in this city.
Robin’s worked-out. Cruised by
Jacques the Ripper.
Her siren’s in Paris.
Things I thought of all morning and can’t remember now.
I’m just getting old and horny.
Whatever,
Oscar Wilde.
She sings in a cypress.
A red blimp over a blue swan.
Swallows—
where all of the mockingbirds were.
