Into a mute crypt, I
Can’t pity our time
Turn amity poetic
Ciao, tiny trumpet!
Manic piety tutor
Tame purity tonic
Up, meiotic tyrant!
I taint my top cure
To it, my true panic
Put at my nice riot
To trace impunity
I tempt an outcry, I
Pin my taut erotic
Art to epic mutiny
Can’t you permit it
To cite my apt ruin?
My true icon: tap it
Copy time, turn it, a
Rite to cut my pain
Atomic putty? Rien!
– Trovato in un blocco d’appunti scartato nella sala comune della guardia psichiatrica del Black-town Hospital
VI-VI-XXVL