(Secret: there was someone there, a loner; that's why the doorbell was not, but...)

The entire day, tomorrow, or yesterday, but never today, was interrupted, By the lad that followed the cat

that followed the twisted, crumpled,

torn, blown, unread newspaper

In which, there was on, page sixteen an ad that

(a candle is now being lit to furnish the

light that will help

To think for the one that is sitting quietly and above, alone)

Having forgotten the continuous pressing of the door-bell button,

And having been forgotten by the hearer of the bell,

Pursuit.

The hungry, crouching mother cat, turns, preys. And now there is a dirty, crumpled, torn,

twisted, un-read, blown, newspaper Which no longer follows or is followed. Destiny, it looks will have to wait. The ad on page sixteen said

What the quiet and alone and suspended, searched.

Sleep will come soon for some, alone, Longer away for others, together,

And for cats.

Sadness quietly crawled in through a

closed window and

Rested side by side with, when the

candle was . . .

As a partner to loneness

A brother to loneliness

All of, as, a being, alone,

Over on the East Side, lost

somewhere above the silent sidewalk;

Here is obscurity, desire, truth.

Gordon Hamilton

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