I have spent three weeks now on a poem that will neither resolve nor get out of my head. I cannot make it work at all. I don't know why it isn't working. I want to put my head through plate glass.
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- 1: ?פֿאַר װאָס זאָל איך אײַך געבן דירה-געלט אַז די קיך איז צעבראָכן
- 2: Sit thee down and put them on
- 3: My life's a crooked mess of things I've broken with my head
- 4: A second flood, a simple famine, plagues of locusts everywhere
- 5: So Krishna stole the butter, did he?
- 6: When I invited Frank and you back to mine for a mange tout when I meant ménage à trois
- 7: The shadows on the walls don't recognize me anymore
- 8: Well, you can't tell much from faces
- 9: This po-mo stuff is nice, but it's irrelevant to the way I feel right now
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