Oh William, Oh William, I love you so much But you're history now, Bill, unavailable to touch The sum total of your life was an eight plus a five Divided by zero by the skeleton and the scythe Afflicted by sorrow for a man I've never met Desire is a remedy for his fake silhouette Does this longing for you mean that I'm guilty of self-projection? Oh I forgot, you're not here to answer my questions With no object of affection how can this need mean so much? Can we project love onto things that we can't even touch? If desire is in question you were necessity's answer To the cause and the effect of this emotional transfer Necessity seems formless, something in common with you Yet when it attaches itself to matter it sticks better than glue It takes all your belongings and into a burning hole it pushes Oh, the fragrant crackle of dried rose bushes I burnt for you not with you your fire needs no end Someday I'll join you in the vacuum into which I only stare So divorced from your image, I sent alimony checks of love In heaven-sent envelopes addressed to none of the above (She was a martyr of free expression. She kept her letters in a locked compartment because she knew someday the role of Judas would be played out on her d**hbed by the New York City Police Department.)