SALAD DAYS
There are things I've put away;
the fissure at the canyon, the
sort of old photos shown at
parties, the old tea-cups an
uncle and aunt once used.
There's not much sense in
just going on. Mirrors never
lie - though they do lie
in wait for some. Like
the half-moon carved
into a vanity table.
-
I digress. Frankly, I
came here to kill myself.
Take all the coin out with
gunshot, run blaring into
traffic, jump thirty stories
from the Cantwell Tower.
-
So now it is, now, you have
to try distracting me with
incidentals : the witch who
grew too big, the story of
the pedals and the dwarf.
No, I will not read to you.
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