How the late night wasteland has tempted me to waste, and
squander sleep with running from myself; and for good measure!
If any soul was not himself, than I
If any soul longed to be himself, than surely I
Ah but here there are only frivolities of speech which I present
For I cannot afford clarity obtuse; simple confessions of regret
Least walls be broken down and teeth to the grind be set
So let me quibble in the vaguery of verse and line
For such is the brief solace and respite, afforded to these nights of mine