I am today a creature turned inside
Out. To spread myself across wide highways
Of your thoughts, stranger, like a loud poster
Was always my desire, but all I
Do is lurk in shadows of culs-de-sac,
Just two eyes showing . . . oh, never mind, I’ve
Spent long years trying to locate my mind
Beneath skin, beneath flesh and underneath
The bone. I’ve stretched my two-dimensional
Nudity on sheets of weeklies, monthlies,
Quarterlies, a sad sacrifice. I’ve put
My private voice away, adopted the
Typewriter’s click as my only speech; I
Click-click, click-click tiresomely into your
Ears, stranger, though you may have no need of
Me, I go on and on, not knowing why . . .