The Lawn Was White With

I Am Solitary As Grass. What Is It I Miss? Shall I Ever Find It, Whatever It Is?

Love Set You Going Like A Fat Gold Watch. The Midwife Slapped Your Footsoles, And Your Bald Cry Took Its Place Among The Elements.

Beached Under The Spumy Blooms, We Lie Sea-sick And Fever-dry.

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

I Am Afraid. I Am Not Solid, But Hollow. I Feel Behind My Eyes A Numb, Paralyzed Cavern, A Pit Of Hell, A Mimicking Nothingness.