A Black-sharded Lady Keeps Me

Outcast On A Cold Star, Unable To Feel Anything But An Awful Helpless Numbness. I Look Down Into The Warm, Earthy World. Into A Nest Of Lovers' Beds, Baby Cribs, Meal Tables, All The Solid Commerce Of Life In This Earth, And Feel Apart, Enclosed In A Wall Of Glass.

And I Am Aware Of My Heart: It Opens And Closes Its Bowl Of Red Blooms Out Of Sheer Love Of Me.

I Want To Be Important. By Being Different. And These Girls Are All The Same.

That Afternoon My Mother Had Brought Me The Roses. "save Them For My Funeral," I'd Said.

I Am But One More Drop In The Great Sea Of Matter, Defined, With The Ability To Realize My Existence.