Classic Poem

in a middle of a room
stands a suicide
sniffing a Paper rose
smiling to a self

" somewhere it is Spring and sometimes
people are in real:imagine
somewhere real flowers, but
I can't imagine real flowers for if I

could, they would somehow
not Be real "

(so he smiles
smiling) " but I will not

everywhere be real to
you in a moment "
The is blond
with small hands

" & everything is easier
than I had guessed everything would
be; even remembering the way who
looked at whom first, anyhow dancing "

(a moon swims out of a cloud
a clock strikes midnight
a finger pulls a trigger
a bird flies into a mirror)