I think to myself
And I drink to myself
And I lie to myself
Wonder why to myself
Then I dress to express
And I dream to transform
I say to myself
Have a word with myself
Well I would says myself
If I could to myself
Then I kind me to care
And I find me to norm
I go sad to myself
Have enough of myself
Tell me off to myself
Say I’m sick of myself
Then I sweet me to sense
And I kiss me from harm
I deny to myself
And I cry to myself
Then they lock up myself
Till I die to myself
Then I sense me to like
And I breathe me to calm
I run far from myself
Take a car from myself
I go mad from myself
But there’s always myself
So I scold to myself
I so cold to myself
Then I hold to myself
Till I haul me to warm
Then I dress to express
And I dream to transform
link to video
Evelyn Grace Quinlan was born much later than you would imagine, and fortunately, therefore, her juvenilia went unwritten. Her senilia, however, is in full flood. She previously published widely under a nom de plume (Philip Quinlan), but is now flying solo, wearing different feathers, and loving it. Hurrah for samsara! (S)he previously co-edited Angle Journal of Poetry in English, though said journal has sadly now departed to that bourne from which none returns.
