Choose yourself-
the menu is old.
The table is filthy.
Choose yourself,
in all your small dimension
in all your sad seclusion
and drab delusion.
Choose it-
Here's the waiter, dirty apron
Walls are thick with sugar sours,
and you are tar.
Killed and killer, I'm tired
closing casbah with soft brown men.
Retrieve your vision
in your death.
And then what bother,
make no stake
Care no cares,
to see no seas
and sieze the wind,
but leave the breeze.