The Meadow 161 wich on rye. I finish a glass of orange juice, then lie down upon M-III’s double bed. I fall asleep immediately. I am dreaming now. I am standing in the African savannah with zebras. I am alone and it is mid-day. The sun is bright, but not hot. The zebras are eating the grass growing for miles around in the open fields. They do not seem to mind my presence. As I begin to sing words of my own composition, the zebras stare up at me: “Zebras with your beautiful stripes Zebras who gallop and play, You never feel the weight of men On your backs and shoulders.” The zebras stare at me a few more moments before returning to graze.
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