heart of everything is that
know exactly what, or why I bother to speak
feel no urge to change the topic now
never know who I was, nor do I want that fact to spread
lift this out of the dark mouth of this dreamy abyss,
loose the dirt of centuries over the plaque
it to the amazing sunlight I have already forgotten
not rise again through my writing
wish not to be disturbed
veritable treasure this will be, I am sure,
of historic value, but the personal little strains that
this for, now,
suppressed and forgotten
how you are
generation, refusing to see what’s right in front of you
right in front of you
one ever taught you how to see such things.
shall remain a relic, and though I quiver at the thought of being hung for the
be long gone by then, that is my only consolation.
find me out, after a thousand years, pull me out of this cave
with me whatever you wish to,
care, for this will not be me any more when you pluck it
taking the train tonight.