the days are very strange, 

i cannot explain.  



when i was young, 

i worked very hard 

on planning the personal politics of my day.  



i had to decide what men to trust, 

and what heads to bust.   



i always wanted to be two steps ahead 

of what any nemesis might have to say.  



sleep is laborious.



poetry can become a dangerous vice.



and the apple does not fall far from the tree— 

and that frightens me, 

that frightens me.    



now that i am old, 

i cannot engage in war

with young psychopaths 

who want to break my soul.