Spirit's
thread in a vice,
The voice is so weak
With crunch of jaws of doubts and problems,
And quivering I hear,
Sometimes so slighjt,
Brieef like a careless ah,
Then morew acute, close to squeaking,
Sometimes a blow and another,
Just like breakers of foam.
Or the crashing is dying down again,
For the lonely word,"stop" to
be heard more distinctly.
What do thoughts have to do,
Weave a merciless loop Or divide into
feelings
And dissolve in inebriate violence
Melting over a drop like an ice-flee.
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