(1995). Modern Psychoanalysis, 20(2):183
This is mine, the cot I sleep on, the breath
I draw, the ligament that fastens to the bone.
And the whim is mine
To breach a silence or abruptly turn and go.
Whatever blooms, withers, newsworthy or no,
Including affairs of the heart and affairs of state,
Whatever mewls, growls, whoever shouts,
Centers on me or may as well not be.
But don't take me lightly. If I am forever posturing
Or rooting at the , I am also sane
As needs be, painter's brush at the ready or mugger's
Knife. Proceed with caution, and parse me who can.