This one has the grim facts.
My writing is all teaching how to hold hands with myself when
no one else is near.
It's my permanent condition.
How to live it vividly as a pleasure if not a solution
and how to despair and equal it in energy, but best of all, how
to die tomorrow when the weather improves
by dying with the sun, a law unto itself, as I am,
there is this happiness.
There are all sorts of moods in which you reflect
upon your occupation, and they go from memories of childhood
to your very latest preoccupation.
And this one is in retrospect, probably
one of the earliest memories I have.