dicking around and all this dicking around
and all this fucking around and fuck all
this and all this wasted time and wasted
time again until my eyes hurt with
looking for the good thing and the
hopeful thing, until my back hurts
with the load of shit you have put on it.
i am afraid of paril. i am afraid of
the may flower, and now before this
hours up will come another hour,
the white yellow toothace of summer
mounts before my view, tiem and
time turning so that nothing
changes bu the color of my hair
and the thinness of my hair and,
wasn't it yesterday i was nineteen,
wiating for somethign to happen?
and now, look her, i am thirty four
years old? and this is the egypt
i hope to leave from? and
shouldn't i remember moses
was eighty?
and did israel,
long after it had lost hope,
finally get born
after four hundred years?
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