resisting responding

 

if i, to you, gave myself anew,

where would that leave my juice?

hidden in little pockets too far

to be of very much use

fling me to the heavens

and i'll fly right back to space

little left on bleecker street

and all i've got's this face

tender traffic trudging by

footsteps made of snow

everybody moves so fast

a flock of things to go

little motion, dare i say,

has yet to move this quick

a candlestick is not half bad

when flame eclipses wick

if i was sick again last night

it surely wasn't you

for if i came, enrapt in hell,

'twas i who lead the dew