What do I do? I seldom ask myself
for easier it is to just go on,
to put the question on a hidden shelf,
to welcome dusk and blankly meet the dawn.

What do I read? my would be help inquires
and I reply, What else but words, words, words,
but this wise one would know my fierce desires
and fears my stance is like the flitting birds.

The matter read? persistent asks again,
and answer I, the matter who between,
but fool not with misundertanding feign
the searching probe of my unsettled scene.

But someday, hap tomorrow, what I do
will be more clear revealed what false what true.
-Robert Stone, 23 May 2010