I think of leaving all this behind
but the furthest that I’ve got
are peremptory boasts (a wish) that
my heart lies somewhere better.
Still, slow retreating steps’ll do;
hold me in better stead I guess
than going forth where I’m never true
a penny-counting half-witness.
A few days ago, a stab of jealousy -
like a poisoned dart - enveloped in me
a nice, deceiving warmth, you know
almost what they call ‘inner glow’.
It was at first, a fling with Art;
tho now I’d like to be committed.
The asylum’s not far, but my heart is flung
somersaulting away, all song and drama.