I Was Only Sitting Here In My

I Hoard Books. They Are People Who Do Not Leave.

The Trouble With Therapy Is That It Makes Life Go Backwards.

Everyone Has Left Me Except My Muse, That Good Nurse. She Stays In My Hand, A Mild White Mouse.

My Sleeping Pill Is White. It Is A Splendid Pearl; It Floats Me Out Of Myself, My Stung Skin As Alien As A Loose Bolt Of Cloth.

Jewels! Today Each Twig Is Important, Each Ring, Each Infection, Each Form Is All That The Gods Must Have Meant.