Tonight there is no moonlight; no fragrance, no rawness, no luck And lovers retreat to the Ego motel. At times, colored birds would leave their nests, go espionage hunting for something hard Sex or [?] or [?]. But not tonight. Yesterday, a deaf man stole a car, attracted by the garter hanging on the rearview. Tonight, he sleeps in a normal bed, dreaming of empty beehives. The compulsive are not leaping [?] naked into the lake. There are no fresh bridges to jump from. A conspiracy among the unborn. Procrastinate another day. All kicking in the labor room, Flatten [?] to a hum. And that light in the sky isn't Venus, but the lost signals of a flashlight That the meterman dropped at noon.