Quite disproportionately gone is the last evening.
Smoke. Long. Basic.

Quite utterly here
are the miscarriages of my imagination. dim   little   notes.
Guitar breath white
                           windows with a muddle of fingerprints
all   quite   quiet
   a radio
speaks to no one in particular.
no papers. must be sorted soon.

in sartorial brinks and swoops some food
below gathered in the great arcadian hall of the thick-aired kitchen.