One Can't Build Little White Picket Fences

Psychiatry Is A Dirty Mirror.

Unless I Can Shake Myself Free Of My Dog, My Flag, Of My Desk, My Mind, I Find Life A Bit Of A Drag. Not Always, Mind You. Usually I'm Like My Frying Pan Useful, Graceful, Sturdy And With No Caper, No Plan.

I Cannot Walk An Inch / Without Trying To Walk To God.

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

So I Won't Hang Around In My Hospital Shift, Repeating The Black Mass And All Of It. I Say Live, Live Because Of The Sun, The Dream, The Excitable Gift.