I Work All Day, And Get Half-drunk

Boys Dream Of Native Girls Who Bring Breadfruit, Whatever They Are.

And The Case Of Butterflies So Rich It Looks As If All Summer Settled There And Died.

The Way The Moon Dashes Through Clouds That Blow Loosely As Cannon-smoke... Is A Reminder Of The Strength And Pain Of Being Young; That It Can't Come Again, But Is For Others Undiminished Somewhere.

Any Memory For The Most Part Depending On Chance.

To Write You Must Be Warm, Fed, Loved And Sober.