I'm Trying To Climb Up Both Walls

What Can We Do When Even The Public Conveyances Sing? How Can We Go Anywhere, Even Cross-town How Get Out Of Anywhere

Dead, Hung Up Indoors, The Kingfisher Will Not Indicate A Favoring Wind, Or Avert The Thunderbolt.

The Heroes Of The Present Will Retreat To The Imitation They Are Anyhow.

This Morning Of The Small Snow I Count The Blessings, The Leak In The Faucet Which Makes Of The Sink Time, The Drop Of The Water On Water.

I'm One Of The Cliches That Has Grown Up.