Life’s been cold. So, I’ve grown a concrete coat. That’s what it takes. Life’s been choked. So, I broke three thousand throats. That’s what it takes, dear.
Half-sound, half-drowned, the only Movement’s t’ward ground. But, birth’s in Earthen dirt, Domine fimus. That’s what it takes. You feel a low flame memory: Summer long ago. Astride, you glide and cry. Open-faced, open…. That’s what it takes, dear.
I don’t want your AH-AH-AH-AH arms AH-AH-AH-AH arms
I don’t need your march for the dead of heart.
I don’t want your hug-of-war. hug-of-war.
I don’t need your… I don’t need your… I don’t need you.