'If my head hurt a hair's
Pack back the downed bone.
If the unpricked ball of my
Bump on a spout let the bubbles jump out.
Sooner drop with the worm of the ropes round my
Than bully ill love in the clouted scene.'All game phrases fit your ring of a cockfight:
I'll comb the snared woods with a glove on a lamp,
Peck, sprint, dance on fountains and duck
Before I rush in a crouch the ghost with a hammer, air,
Strike light, and bloody a loud room.'If my bunched, monkey coming is
Rage me back to the making house.
My hand
When you sew the deep door.
The bed is a cross place.
Bend, if my journey ache, direction like an arc or makeA limp and riderless shape to leap nine thinning months.''No.
Not for Christ's dazzling
Or a nacreous sleep among soft particles and
My dear would I change my tears or your iron head.
Thrust, my daughter or son, to escape, there is none, none, none,
Nor when all ponderous heaven's host of waters breaks.'Now to awake husked of gestures and my joy like a
To the anguish and carrion, to the infant forever unfree,
O my lost love bounced from a good home;
The grain that hurries this way from the rim of the
Has a voice and a house, and there and here you must couch and cry.'Rest beyond choice in the dust-appointed grain,
At the breast stored with seas.
No
Through the waves of the fat streets nor the skeleton's thin ways.
The grave and my calm body are shut to your coming as stone,
And the endless beginning of prodigies suffers open.'
