... A Starving Man Doesn't Ask What

O Yellow Eye, Let Me Be Sick With Your Heat, Let Me Be Feverish And Frowning.

Perhaps I Am No One. True, I Have A Body And I Cannot Escape From It. I Would Like To Fly Out Of My Head, But That Is Out Of The Question.

I Remember The Stink Of The Liverwurst. How I Was Put On A Platter And Laid Between The Mayonnaise And The Bacon. The Rhythm Of The Refrigerator Had Been Disturbed.

The Little Girl Skipped By Under The Wrinkled Oak Leaves And Held Fast To A Replica Of Herself.

Suicide Is, After All, The Opposite Of The Poem.