I Tied Down Time With A Rope

... A Starving Man Doesn't Ask What The Meal Is.

The Place I Live In Is A Kind Of Maze And I Keep Seeking The Exit Or The Home.

The Future Is A Fog That Is Still Hanging Out Over The Sea, A Boat That Floats Home Or Does Not. The Trade Winds Blow Me, And I Do Not Know Where The Land Is; The Waves Fold Over Each Other; They Are In Love With Themselves; Sleeping In Their Own Skin; And I Float Over Them And I Do Not Know About Tomorrow.

Only My Books Anoint Me, And A Few Friends, Those Who Reach Into My Veins.

Somebody Who Should Have Been Born Is Gone.