Stupefied in this vast slaughter house
Where the fingers of crude murderers seek
The napes of neck the sheaf of hair
Forget settled ways now just seek mad heroism.
This is the end of me perhaps wind will carry
On back of coarse canvas a song of prejudice
To torture to kill cut down the sleepy slopes
Along hills where spiders set fire to hazel
The forces of intimidation settling on waxpod
Into tasteless heaps of gold and the marbled
Filled with guillotined leaves ad the barren
The universe mislaid now among some nocturnal
First I forgot your smiles
Then the shadow of your flesh
Then the wrinkles on your palm
Then those long slender ledge.
Then I forgot your deciphered name
Then the long alphabetical strife
Then I forgot the staid solid skeletons
Arranged neatly on the shelf twice.