AnxiousDave BontaRavens in winterravens hang out in dead hope of an ox full of news and folly which will keep them all winter full of midnight settling into a bed thin as a purse
SadDave BontaArtisanal deatha death made of dirt and prison stone made from hour to hour till it was midnight made drunk made of work like a heavy-headed ox whole but odd
ContemplativeDave BontaBorn-again naturalistswe are not ourselves in a field but taken prisoner we find a green page to retreat to touching an abstract ground like oaks engaged with the night
CheerfulDave BontaHer majesty’s dog at Kewwith silver plates serving us sand a gentleman tells me the meaning of dog walls secure the night and call every fox to take the air
ContemplativeDave BontaBookwormholeentering my book where to be gone to who among others to love in their poor varnish how to see at night
ContemplativeDave BontaOutside influenceI walk to think to see clear on foot night fitting a paper multitude no mine back home where I might have gone
ContemplativeDave BontaProsperomy only work is to look to look after the tide serving a sea I keep the noon till night I let be
AnxiousDave BontaPerplexedcould I understand what I could not stand forced to go to bed and give the night a night to master my mind unfounded as a country made for war
CheerfulDave BontaBon vivantnight is a welcome wine and a great carcass I go home to supper red as a bee