There's no way and no reason now to segue this all back into something more honest reasonable so I'm not going to try

all these story lines can just go and go and go and in fact they will indeed and in fact
the next trick might be to start resurrecting some from the wayback

like the one about the friends who journey to the magic mountain, there to seek a girl
or the one where I play guitar and make a boy fly
or the one about drinking and dying in the woods by the river in winter

like all the ones back in these pages

*

I used to write crazy when drunk;
now, just lame and sad.

This book was always lame and sad,
but now it's minus crazy
and sanity is a lot less fun

but who knows where a few more drinks
might take me
(I'm speaking metaphorically)

(Oh no I'm not)

*

I'm sick, but that's
our little secret,

stranger