..
Paul and Silas in Jail
Ensouled Encaged
Rotting and heavy——
In every instance an immense aching for rest
And
Settlement.
I wouldn’t dream of singing.
Rather, I should be a leaf in the
(How long will the [Wind.] blow?)
Or should like to burrow or claw a way from out my skin
And fly away to the moon
Or even yonder and on,
Up where the eye knows but cannot see,
Where the assemblage of rocks and minerals,
Which we call inhabitance,
Would only will to oblige
And collapse:
So I wouldn’t dream of singing.