Today's my twentieth birthday and alone I walk the banks of Maine as time runs out to write the second verse to the Love Song of J. Alfred Prufock.  Disturb the universe?  There will be time.  There will be time.  I've traveled long and far, and now I'm back from the USSR.  I went there to pursue a lifelong calling and found only numb toes and helpless longing.  Do I dare?  Duh.  Man, those distant hills and rustic never-never lands and narrow streets.  So how should I presume?