I'm heading for a clean-named place like Wisconsin, and mad as a jack-o'-lantern, will get there without help and nosy proclivities.

How many people came and stayed a certain time, Uttered light or dark speech that became part of you Like light behind windblown fog and sand Filtered and influenced by it, until no part Remains that is surely you.

The soul establishes itself. But how far can it swim out through the eyes And still return safely to its nest?

Somewhere someone is traveling furiously toward you, At incredible speed, traveling day and night.

The winter does what it can for its children.

Not until it starts to stink does the inevitable happen.

Until, accustomed to disappointments, you can let yourself rule and be ruled by these strings or emanations that connect everything together, you haven't fully exorcised the demon of doubt that sets you in motion like a rocking horse that cannot stop rocking.