Try to disconnect again / trying to shake the janks / but I know anhedonia better than I know my friends / disconnect again, necessarily / like a no-anaesthesia encephalectomy / after this it won’t recur / this weirdo dream, this life of slur / just make a coffin from a cloud / and fill it with excelsior / I’ll make myself as pale as glass / scarce as blue in the Iliad / seldom as a year of glad and on and on / after this, the wish to be alone when night comes creeping round / despite the invitation cards for all my conscience will allow / I used to have a poet’s body / a swimmer’s soul / a...