Carrion Comfort

Not, I’ll not, carrion comfort, giving up, not claim you;
Not untwist, slack as it is, this last strand of man
Within my mind, or cry I cannot go on. I can;
Can…what? Wish it was day. Or not stop living, too.
But ah, but O thou monstrous, why would you hurtfully do
All this–wring out my right foot? attack with a lionlimb? scan
With a malicious look my bruising body? and fan,
O in turns of whirlwind, my form frantic just to avoid you or fight through.
Why? That my chaff might fly, my grain stand, straight and bright.
Nay in all that toil, that coil, for (right?) I kiss a rod,
No, a hand, I wasn’t strong, looking for joy, caught sight
Sight of whom? That champion by whom I was flung–his foot trod
On holy ground–or his rival? O who? Is it both? That month, that night
Of dark that’s past now I worm lay struggling with (my God!) my God.


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