Everyone is after me to jump
to invigorate, and to play soccer,
to run, to swim and to fly.
They all advise me rest,
they all send me to the doctor,
looking at me a certain way.
They all advise me to travel,
to come and to leave to stay
to die and not to die.
It does not matter.
They all see the difficulties
of my surprised insides
by awful x-rayed portraits.
I do not agree.
Everyone is picking at my poetry
with their relentless knives and forks,
trying, no doubt, to find a fly.
I Am afraid.
I am afraid of the whole world,
afraid of cold water
afraid of death.
I am as all mortals are,
unable to be comforted.
And so, in these brief, passing days
I shall not take them into account.
I shall open up and closet myself
with my most treacherous enemy.