There are two things in this world
Which death is not strong enough to confront
And from both I can only expect the worst.
I do not measure the terror of remoteness
Since its importance is only conductive.
Actualized nothing is so torpid
That I lose my backgrounds
And I never stop laughing at real things.
A frail emergence of pedestrians reinvents neither them
Or the poignant development of their characters.
At the top of the most pressing needs
One discovers the stinging pain of precision
That propitiatory rattle
Which is not detected in the secondary ones
Given that there is no secondary precision
To cause such an act of pathetic bravery.
The maintenance of inspirational torture
Is stabilized in a poise called existing.
Imperious arrivals of closing times.
Any dependence as far as possible.
Any shortfall to the extent of the impossible.
The brutality required for a man to be free is
Much less than the brutality one needs in order to live.
Efforts reflecting upon some origin
Are probably a larking code;
An estimated sufferance