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In the swamplands long ago,
Where the weeds and mudglumps grow,
A Yipiyuk bit on my toe…
Exactly why I do not know.
I kicked and cried
And hollered “Oh”—
The Yipiyuk would not let go.
I whispered to him soft and low—
The Yipiyuk would not let go.
I shouted “Stop,” “Desist” and “Whoa”—
The Yipiyuk would not let go.
Yes, it was sixteen years ago,
The Yipiyuk still won’t let go.
The snow may fall,
The winds may blow—
The Yipiyuk will not let go.
The snow may melt,
The grass may grow—
The Yipiyuk will not let go.
I drag him ‘round each place I go.
This Yipiyuk that won’t let go.
And now my child at last you know
Exactly why I walk so slow.
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Sometimes I get this need to express something, but there’s no media that is up to the challenge. Drawing, singing, playing an instrument, building, destroying, I can’t think of anything that could express what I am feeling at this instant in exactly the way I want to. I think I just want to shoot through the atmosphere and go rocketing around the universe.
I would be so angry if I died tomorrow. I’m just barely getting started. I’ll feel the same way in eighty years.