You’re right,
Right behind the book covers lies the lock,
All cleaned up from all the mess,
All letters are now put in turns in a certain scientific order,
Or medical order, like prescriptions in a drug store.
No space for joking around and no peace for my life to go about as it pleases,
No strings tied to any of the plants growing from my garden,
Direction above
Above the sky and above the lines of duty and pleasure,
Like in a museum of feelings.