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.
