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Poem	Acacia, burnt myrrh, velvet, pricky stings. -”I'm not so young but not so very old, said screwed-up lovely 23. A final sense of being right out in the cold, unkissed. (-”My psychiatrist can lick your psychiatrist.) Women get under things. All these old criminals sooner or later have had it. I've been reading old journals. Gottwald & Co., out of business now. Thick chests quit. Double agent, Joe. She holds her breath like a seal and is whiter & smoother. Rilke was a jerk. I admit his griefs & music & titled spelled all-disappointed ladies. A threshold worse than the circles where the vile settle & lurk, Rilke's. As I said,-”
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