What I’ve Done These Past Few Days
I’ve found out night-times are long and slippery
every dream is wringing wet
I’ve found that the cotton you pulled out
from under my body
was something I can not explain
I’ve found out the scent my body emanates when
I’m swaying back and forth in a chair
is not as sweet-smelling as you said
I’ve found myself squatting in sunshine’s prison-cells
busily writing verse
and to all the people I meet I’ve said:
Do not let any poem too easily finish