as constant as doubtthe necessity of an everyday cursethough the devil must have patiencetomorrow is for ash and forgettingand being a poethe cannot stay an hour
this morning is a clear ruina mortal barbwords make anythingto raise disquietbut the word devilthat word full of worldis a nothing as sweetas my first little doubt
Rain.I got up early.I was deputy to trouble;I could not talk.A place otherthan the void tonight?I go out withoutany qualification.Doubt will bethe end of me.