Everyone In Me Is A Bird I

What's The Point Of Fighting The Dollars When All You Need Is A Warm Bed? When The Dog Barks You Let Him In. All We Need Is Someone To Let Us In. And One Other Thing: To Consider The Lilies In The Field.

Poor Thing. To Die And Never See Brooklyn.

And What Of The Dead? They Lie Without Shoes In The Stone Boats. They Are More Like Stone Than The Sea Would Be If It Stopped. They Refuse To Be Blessed, Throat, Eye And Knucklebone.

Why Are All These Dolls Falling Out Of The Sky? Was There A Father? Or Have The Planets Cut Holes In Their Nets And Let Our Childhood Out, Or Are We The Dolls Themselves, Born But Never Fed?

Today Is Made Of Yesterday, Each Time I Steal Toward Rites I Do Not Know, Waiting For The Lost Ingredient, As If Salt Or Money Or Even Lust Would Keep Us Calm And Prove Us Whole At Last.