By trade they go to the office
to college to the bakery
they open their eyes every morning
they undress they love by trade
without a hair more or less in
their faces, neatness is ex officio
and the funny teeth of the soul,
do not misstep
by trade they smoke, they take off their shoes, they drink,
they seem to have on their backs
a hidden on/off key,
they putean they dance they kiss ex officio.
At the time of death,
they die by trade.
They came to do what they did.
Spot.
Let's not ask them for a strand of astonishment.
They leave posterity a name,
a pair of immaculate shirts.
A pair of shoes under the bed.
Did they ever caress
the head of a pet
office, and they crossed the street.
And they cried and toasted and lived by trade.
Let's not demand them let's not ask them
no act ever
of generous madness.