It's an exceptional life, this one
broken on the rack : cereal bars
like candy litter the floor, bowls of
oatmeal and lament are everywhere.
All of my books are marked with tabs
and underlined with my surcease of
sorrow. So what can I beg or borrow?
From you, I want only riches and gold,
and I know that's not coming anytime
soon, so I forget that porridge and let it
turn cold. Here, once more, I am stretched
out on the floor; I linger my lament like
the sound of those bells that peal.