Vera

Good morning Vera, my trance: you know, I'm not good.

Not in their sense of goodness; I'm naked.



Maybe I'm too stupid, or maybe I'm too clever, Vera... and like you, I haven't what I want, but... why should I want anything anyway?



This morning the winds came tall from the south

the iron wine still is in the cup, Vera.

Vera, Vera.






Good evening Vera, my thorn; if I could analyze myself, in a cold equation

cutting vein like a vivisection through the heart... I'd realize [again] that you're all I need.



But that's another story, Vera

a long story, as long as the time.



Time.