Somebody Who Should Have Been Born Is

For I Could Not Read Or Speak And On The Long Nights I Could Not Turn The Moon Off Or Count The Lights Of Cars Across The Ceiling.

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 Try To Take Care And Be Gentle To Them. Words And Eggs Must Be Handled With Care. Once Broken They Are Impossible Things To Repair.

Poets Are Sitting In My Kitchen. Why Do These Poets Lie? Why Do Children Get Children And Did You Hear What It Said?

Evil Is Maybe Lying To God. Or Better, Lying To Love.