Strolling down Thayer Street in the early morning,
Amy’s dogged by that constant thought –
can you really start a life over?
Crawling through the space between, I forget myself.
Nothing easier, you say, than to pinch a flower at the stem.
When there’s nothing to do, when I’m bored or dreary
I’ll sit still and watch from the window, I’ll wait
for the weather to change, which it will.
I will not idle live and I will not idle die
I cannot rest until you make a mess with me
Will this ride never end?
Bending, the boulevard is a constant aquarium
raining traffic lights, caged store windows,
steps empty of people & that all
presses against moments.
My voice cannot speak,
Of these stolen hours.
They are owned,
By the british media.
I was wholly determined to go home and expunge the whole
of what I had ever composed that day, that week, that whole
crazy year of my life,