Sunday, November 22, 2009
The remains of my worries should be tied at the wrists and littered,
Drayed-off to the place where go the remains to black-winged birds
Who serve their natural office, breaking and fluttering and whitening,
Upturning undersides -- transparent appetite through swift vultury.
Thus to retire from suspect looks, by the urgency of a responding corps
Eager to haul and bury and leave whatever nature wants to have,
Or -- no longer quick -- quickly by a smoke of disappearance --
By such efficiency rest attains; stress not more, I, then.