Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape. It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know, Have always known, know that we can't escape, Yet can't accept. One side will have to go. Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring Intricate rented world begins to rouse. The sky is white as clay, with no sun. Work has to be done. Postmen like doctors go from house to house.

Here is an unfenced existance

Since the majority of me Rejects the majority of you, Debating ends forthwith, and we Divide.'' Philip Larkin

Life is first boredom, then fear.

Clearly money has something to do with life.

It is fatal to decide, intellectually, what good poetry is because you are then in honour bound to try to write it, instead of the poems that only you can write.

Any memory for the most part depending on chance.