I was born to be lonely.
I am best so!”
If I admire my arms, my face
my shoulders, flanks, buttocks
against the yellow drawn shades,—
who shall say I am not
the happy genius of my household?
PORTRAIT OF A WOMAN IN BED <poem> There's my things drying in the corner: that blue skirt joined to the grey shirt—
I'm sick of trouble! Lift the covers if you want me and you'll see the rest of my clothes— though it would be cold lying with nothing on!
I won't work and I ve got no cash. What are you going to do about it?