Dilapidation of the spirit as the heart gives in, the mind gives in.
These three, a triumvirate, laughing.
This bitterness breaks me.
This light at the back of the head cracks the notion's facade and behind it the mind
plays its bric-a-brac music.
To find the right image.
To place one's lips gently atop the flute's metal, to feel it there, cold on the mouth.
I have been on this journey for months.
From the back of the head to the river, it hurts.
I am singing.
Oh yes, I am singing.
My mind is at ease.
I will die like this, penniless.