In my theories I swing
Between two extremes—-
Outwardly I sing—
Or retire softly into dreams.
Two extremes: say what everyone is thinking.
Don’t think about anything at all.
Tell everyone the ship is sinking.
Stare for a whole afternoon at shadows on the wall.
I don’t know which is better; you
Want me to be practical—theories, too,
Can be practical—you out-theorize me
By always being the same.
I say too much by saying your name.
Which is too little, in theory.