Orange Words

The tunneled deep down water well, is picturesque, is nogood. But I see it with the rope hanging the bucket plummet down it. I forgot to ask her about myself; and what could she say? I think, you’re OK? I guess? I thrust my head into the rubber folly fell the glass of milk. It soured the well water. I couldn’t hang the glass back up, and it wouldn’t bounce back, not with my hand in it. I henceforth never drank the never water. Anyway, I hate orange juice. It gives me heartburn: or the empty desert well, or, the dry throat. Plummeted down this page, my heart is hanging on this rope, full of sour words, which I can’t hang up.

April 1971