I Was Supposed To Be Having The

Good To Know That If I Ever Need Attention All I Have To Do Is Die.

I, Love, I Am The Pure Acetylene Virgin Attended By Roses.

I Felt Dumb And Subdued. Every Time I Tried To Concentrate, My Mind Glided Off, Like A Skater, Into A Large Empty Space, And Pirouetted There, Absently.

They Had To Call And Call And Pick The Worms Off Me Like Sticky Pearls.

The Night Sky Is Only A Sort Of Carbon Paper, Blueblack, With The Much-poked Periods Of Stars Letting In The Light, Peephole After Peephole--- A Bonewhite Light, Like Death, Behind All Things.