XXXV
                              I. has eaten at the Cosmos veal
                              and chicken two hundred ways and he has studied
                              out-of-date notices posted with rusted thumb tacks
                              inside makeshift windows made of plywood
                              to keep the light out and also to keep the eyes
                              from too much watching and too much gathering,
                              and also to keep the glass what there is of glass
                              from too much crumbling, and I. can smell a rat
                              for he has lived with dirty nests in his cellar
                              and he sings love songs now among the spiders
                              for he hasn’t lasted for eighty-two years for nothing.