He and his last best keep settle the bench While the simple treatments California offers of autumn Are a backdrop of small, stilled fires in the trees.
Through the window cobalt skies set his his bottle at a dull glow And inside the deep recess of his hood the drop of an old hope Stops at first impressions and turns elsewhere Plumbing inward for a lingering chute of Away.
The launderers read.
Outside the coffeehouse Duke goes picking over a scant bounty Of crumbs and chaff, a-snufflin' so many And's??? he's senseless To the middle-aged bartender who storms the extended surround Like a dreaded cousin-- no one comes to see him anymore! And it's been weeks, Angela, since that body of hers Hasn't stopped to haunt him nights.
Where? …Where's she been? …Where's she been hiding anyway?
And the launderers in very careful turns put newspapers & books down Uncrossing their legs & vanishing altogether into other disappearances Embraceable or not.