It’s easy to say “I’m lone”, easy to talk about being lone, easy to decide to be lone. So lone, so lone, so lone! No resonances, no bells—all bells, really, turn cowbells—clip and clop. Nothing echoes, really—forgetting, then, what it was that you’ve said.
So lone, up to knees, always, in something; all bells clank, clank, clank again. Always baking bones, and no blood to sauce them with, no lump, no side of lard. So lone! No one to spend on—spend on the wretched ground! Make it rear, and rear again, so. So lone!
-2002
