Days of nothingness
Days of clear skies the temperature descending
Days of no telephone calls or all the wrong ones
Days of	complete boredom and nothing 
        is happening
Days of	1967 coming to a close in the frigid condition of chest 
        cold and cough
        drops
Days of	afternoons in the life of a young girl 
        not being on time
Days of daydreams exploding
Days of utter frustration
Days of	my film being cursed and myself 
        with the curse never lifting
Days of closed windows to keep the cold
        out the livingroom warm
Days of avoiding lunch for a phone-call
        with change of plans for the day
Days of posting letters
Days of no mail today
Days of fatigue and amphetamine highs
Days of Charles Edward Ives
Days of the 4:00 pm doldrums
Days of wonder drugs to challenge the common cold
Days of utter frustration
Days of forgetting

O Me! O life! of the questions of these recurring,
Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,
Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,
Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?

Answer.

That you are here—that life exists and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.