La Far

Satisfaction of the Instincts

1 s a t i s f a c t i o n o f t h e i n s t i n c t s In the garden he literalized A nightingale beyond Knowledge, sound the free Dogs heard, an open secret Between the hostel’s two buildings, Both with bunks, one Reception with yellow sheets. I changed the subject To how my bias freed us From shooting the storm In the garden. Either afternoon I saw change and am not afraid Of the soul as its source, with your lights on I believe in a tree Which grew up from his grave Had nothing to say even When wind forced it, And you wouldn’t have to introduce Yourself to sleep each time My argument continued Wearing the bed you lived on By visiting the floor. No thought for those who strode behind in sun If chanting mitigations of shadows, 2 I left with less than traveling Allowed, an early snow not falling Down as I wanted it to happen, Simply as it did, without Malfunction whitening the eyes. Then I could not Without refrain or parting force, the early Smile you know from waking Too hurriedly following rain. The new museum was emptying As I fell in every street Okay to be the four-legged Person people saw, otherwise It would just be someone else And maybe I loved him Or would come to, as I have to so much With being passed by. The city was Vienna I might as well say I imagine on any coast The place you were Is thought, even though We drove to Italy Made me cry as a girl Threw back her golden head In light at flagellation. The inside Was with enough practice We might be shot in the back From a distance. That was our happiness As two girls in our compartment On the train we drove sleeping 3 Woke without names And remember asked me What environment means And I later named my environment In memory of her. But what Could we say? We were sleeping, There was so little speaking, And what there was went out the doors When the train stopped To let others achieve something As they slept. When I wake I want to say I have been to Cologne, Dresden without knowledge. As in the photographs of knowledge Everyone looks open to being wrong Reflected in windows As the train opens In memory of her. ...