Why stop here? The whole gang wondered.
There was sleep for sissies. There was food.
There were lottery tickets galore. There was
A kind of confusion about what was here
And what was here before. Once you could
Have bought books and books and books,
Printed on paper and bound in paper
Or cardboard, call them hardbacks,
In the last door on the left of a strip of doors,
Jenny's Garden it was called, speckled in sun.
Now it's another irrelevant store. The death
Of a body obsessed with thinking of death
Should not have, will not have happened
Here, here in this dust, after all worth being
About here wasn't here anymore, no more.
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