wednesday ... burns like oil with me arriving with my jail face

....
It happens that I am tired of being a man.

Just the same, it would be delicious to scare a notary
With a cut lily
Or knock a nun stone dead with a single blow of an ear.
It would be beautiful to go through the streets
With a green knife shouting until I died of cold.

I do not want to go on being a root in the dark, hesitating,
Stretched out shivering with dreams,
Downward in the wet tripe of the earth,
Soaking it up and thinking and eating every day.
I do not want to be the inheritor of so many misfortunes.
I do not want to continue as a root and as a tomb, as a solitary tumble,
As a cellar full of corpses stiff with cold and dying with pain.
....
my thoughts exactly last night and today. from dear Pablo Neruda's poem Walking Around