I Felt Wise And Cynical As All

She Stared At Her Reflection In The Glossed Shop Windows As If To Make Sure, Moment By Moment, That She Continued To Exist.

I, To You, Am Lost In The Gorgeous Errors Of Flesh.

I Was Supposed To Be Having The Time Of My Life.

Secretly, In Studies And Attics And Schoolrooms All Over America, People Must Be Writing.

I Wanted To Crawl In Between Those Black Lines Of Print, The Way You Crawl Through A Fence, And Go To Sleep Under That Beautiful Big Green Fig-tree.