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Poem	Mr Brain was a hermit dwarf who liked to eat shellfish off the moon. He liked to go into a tree then because there is a little height to see a little further, which may reveal now the stone, a pebble--it is a twig, it is nothing under the moon that you can make sure of. So Mr Brain opened his mouth to let a moonbeam into his head. Why to be alone, and you invite the stars to tea. A cup of tea drinks a luminous guest. In the winter could you sit quietly by the window, in the evening when you could have vinegar and pretend it to be wine, because you would do well to eat doughnuts and pretend you drink wine as you sit quietly by the window. You may kick your leg back and forth. You may have a tendency to not want to look there too long and turn to find darkness in the room because it had become nighttime. Why to be alone. You are pretty are you not/you are as pretty as you are not, or does that make sense. You are not pretty, that is how you can be alone. And then you are pretty like fungus and alga, you are no one without some one, in theory alone. Be good enough to go to bed so you can not think too much longer.
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