Dear David in Wichita, if things look bad, I know they are––it’s all right. We were already haunted. And if this world should be a spinning car, heading for the railing bars, just say there was nothing you wanted.
You’ve got to love what you have while you have it, and when it’s gone, you got to forget all about it. When the myth of death turned out to be true, I was in a lecture––where were you? Everything I learned fell out of my head.
Forty-two years he lived in the city. Forty-two poems was the number I heard. After his brother, he was constantly writing. Berkeley looks down on the hearse. The first verse began just like the last verse: