No.
I'm fine.
As a matter of fact,
I'm happy. And perfect.

Yes,
my hair's uncombed
and my clothes are ragged
and I live everywhere

Under the table, sometimes
framing infinity.
Or on the edge of the precipice
conquering literature and flying

Or somewhere in the street
scattering the everlasting tunes
whilst letting the wind dismember
the feathers swirling round my earlobe.

It's my choice.
I refused to inhabit the life of conventionality.
On a fine summer day,
if you prefer, you can

Run away with me.