History has dreamed of me

And as such in its’ imaginings

Feels the painful days and tragedy

Of my great lament

Scorching the jagged edges of the world

It is a history that possesses

A capricious and intense sensitivity

A receptivity to suggestions of the imaginary

It bestows instability to the great vital rhythms of my life

And the misty memories of that present,

That present past, provide a misery of mood

Fills my veins with an inconsistency of feelings

Creating an all engulfing anxiety

Of fear and contempt for myself

Where amidst this great disorder

I fear that all hope has fled

Vanquished toward a black and purple sky

This causes all the great human dilemmas

To take up unwelcome residence in my mind

Which is tortured by a pervasiveness of antagonism

Antipathy and disturbance

You see  I can no more escape from these

Obsessing reflections in my consciousness

Than I can from my own reflection in a mirror