I want to close just with three short poems, is [INAUDIBLE]
the unlikely enough candidate.
My three dearest friends are here to celebrate now.
These are for them.
And she and he and she, [INAUDIBLE]
This is called "The Matter, With Abjection."
And it's not the epithalamium I was
going to write for her wedding.
It's not at all, but--
"The Matter, With Abjection."
"I would.
Can I have a moment?
Is there a condition behind the one you've laid out?
Does one come away with an erogenous impression?
Her eyes are a browner that I remember
and I suspect there I am betrayed.
Is there any depth to which I won't hesitate to wade?
Do you, wave, take this seed and drown its use,
to sport and to promise till memory serves you well?
And do you well take to consommé as any cure worth its salt?
In the taste, a liquefaction and a liquidation.
A jam frees, a winter thaws, as one hide
becomes another, as one torch borrowing another's fire
splits nothing.
A hair please from each.
If a child would now take the aisle and grow.
These are his wrists, each brought round with child,
with single ringlets.
He hides your bond.
Boy, have you predilections?
Sir, for predicaments."