"Why was I doing this to myself? Because the mind keeps working, uncontrollably."
It's just a cup of water.
Why count what has drowned in it,
How many fish flit through it,
How many postcards show it,
The number of invasions
Have entered and died in it
Since it was a cup of ice?
Sun stirred lake or sun stroked brain,
No who in the end in it,
Nowhere that persists as it,
Lines cast in the deep of it
May pull up monstrous sturgeon
Living since the god-knows-when
Of it, but that can't be it.
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