Where the fingers of crude murderers seek

The napes of neck the sheaf of hair

Forget settled ways now just seek mad heroism.

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 leaves.

Marshes

Into tasteless heaps of gold and the marbled

Symptoms

Filled with guillotined leaves ad the barren

Forest

The universe mislaid now among some nocturnal

Trivials.

Then the shadow of your flesh

Then the wrinkles on your palm

Then those long slender ledge.

Then the long alphabetical strife

Then I forgot the staid solid skeletons

Arranged neatly on the shelf twice.