I Have Been Holding A Dialogue With

I Lay In That Tub On The Seventeenth Floor Of This Hotel For-women-only, High Up Over The Jazz And Push Of New York, For Near Unto An Hour, And I Felt Myself Growing Pure Again. I Don't Believe In Baptism Or The Waters Of Jordan Or Anything Like That, But I Guess I Feel About A Hot Bath The Way Those Religious People Feel About Holy Water.

Go Out And Do Something. It Isn’t Your Room That’s A Prison, It’s Yourself.

A Ring Of Gold With The Sun In It? Lies. Lies And A Grief.

But When It Came Right Down To It, The Skin Of My Wrist Looked So White And Defenseless That I Couldn't Do It.

I Had Been Alone More Than I Could Have Been Had I Gone By Myself.