Sorrow Is Easier Than Guilt.

Thumbs Grow Into My Throat. I Wear Slaps Like A Spot Of Rouge.

It Would Be Pleasant To Be Drunk.

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.

My Safe, Safe Psychosis Is Broken. It Was Hard. It Was Made Of Stone. It Covered My Face Like A Mask. But It Has Cracked.

Jewels! Today Each Twig Is Important, Each Ring, Each Infection, Each Form Is All That The Gods Must Have Meant.