I Am Alone Here In My Own

Someone Is Dead. Even The Trees Know It, Those Poor Old Dancers Who Come On Lewdly, All Pea-green Scarfs And Spine Pole.

I Have Been Cut In Two.

You See, We Live In A Cold Climate And Are Not Permitted To Kiss On The Street So I Made Up A Song That Wasn't True. I Made Up A Song Called Marriage.

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

I Said, The Poets Are There I Hear Them Singing And Lying Around Their Round Table And Around Me Still.