The dead do not need aspirin or sorrow, I suppose. But they might nee drain. Not shoes but a place to walk. Not cigarettes, they tell us, but a place to burn. Or we're told:space and a place to fly might be the same. The dead don't need me. Nor do the living. But the dead might needeachother.in fact, the dead might need everything weneedandwe need so much if we only knew what itwas.it isprobablyeverythingand we will all probably die trying to editor die because Weldon't get it. I hope you will understand when I am dead got as muchaspossible.

The Roominghouse Madrigals: Early Selected Poems