My Autobiography - Dear Nora

I wrote this one on my back

I was under attack from the falling dusk

Now it’s a bust

What you see inside

Of me, isn’t quite what I wrote in my autobiography

But it’s what you see

Now spring couldn’t get much worse

And the sun is a curse shooting frozen rays

In my place

And I’m left here all alone

In the cold on my bed in the afternoon while I compose my autobiography