I Was Spread Out Dailyand Examined For

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

I Grow Old On My Bitterness.

My Safe, Safe Psychosis Is Broken. It Was Hard. It Was Made Of Stone. It Covered My Face Like A Mask. But It Has Cracked.

Maybe, Although My Heart Is A Kitten Of Butter, I Am Blowing It Up Like A Zeppelin.

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.