he takes his dinner in the bath    love sickened and infirmed    the orderly found him there   fileted on the marble stairs   hat still in hand   his smoking remains   blown out by a kiss from the sunday scene   sunday soon sunday soon someday soon      someday someday someday      his eyes are closed he mouthed the name the rosary    her lips and tongue she is the centrifuge    that throws the spies from the sun    the cistine chapel painted with the gattling gun    someday soon x4      oh the meadows set on end    move like starlings up a cliff and tenor of a foggy touch   the forcefield round his frosty hips   whose shape recalls the wicked spade   that buried him but on his lips the last rites of nerves   someday soon