I'm Twenty, I can wait;
I can give away a day,
I can saddle hope.
In my visceral thoughts,
I can count, and count,
Puckered face, hysterical, at midnight--
I can envelop, or eat them up-
They're stray, waiting to be adopted-
They burn away
Quietly like some ascetic monk,
Or stay
Making interstices in me.
