Once I spoke the language of the flowers,
Once I understood each word the caterpillar said,
Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings,
And shared a conversation with the housefly
in my bed.
Once I heard and answered all the questions
of the crickets,
And joined the crying of each falling dying
flake of snow,
Once I spoke the language of the flowers. . . .
How did it go?
How did it go?

Once, when I was young and true,
  Someone left me sad--
Broke my brittle heart in two;
  And that is very bad.

Love is for unlucky folk,
  Love is but a curse.
Once there was a heart I broke;
  And that, I think, is worse.

I haven't prayed for three years now-
a fact my ma laments.
But I refuse to genuflect
without the evidence.

Even in my darkest hour,
I've had no need for fiction.
Solace I have always found
outside of heaven's jurisdiction.

So I live and so I'll die and
have naught to do with gospel lies.

The sky is a stretch of endless blue
as far as the eye can see

A careful scattering of light
Is what causes this to be

The atmospheric molecules
Those scientific wonders

In their frenzied madness have not yet
split the sky asunder

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.

Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a ****,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.

Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.

It's 6.30 a.m. - the tea has arrived!
I shuffle downstairs
still bleary-eyed,
pour myself a steaming cup
and sit down to watch as the world wakes up.

It's got a grip
on both my lungs
The air is getting scarce
It also feels as though I'm falling
down a flight of stairs
My stomach does
a somersault
Or maybe twenty-two
My hands are cold
I'm overwhelmed by all these brilliant hues

At times like these, I've often felt
a longing to be someone else.