Someday you’ll forget, he thanked God. Newspaper

where the words for the opportunity, a choice,

came from having my eyes opened by bells.

The dog will hand blitzkrieg, flying chairs;

the mouse made its rapid advance through chamber pots.

The bell became paramount. Three bullet holes

and the cat, the senior staff in the teeth,

will go crashing Camp Commandant. A coil of

will, the gumball, doodlebugs and buzz bombs, rope

machine, night shirt on pillow, emergency, and red

and sadness, a soak in the tub daily, underwear

will engulf producing pristine bells.

The city, for long hours, without seeing breakfast

like dust, the Cabinet War Rooms, penny

at sunset, most ballistics experts whistle.