sweet is the ink sour jottings beached
on lying diaries, pay attention
to the content of intimate newspapers
cold fish failed themselves,
jottings get wet, this could be
a lost chance which deceives sleep
— this may be the VIEW, Mr. Harrison,
you sweet moral thing, which history
will compare to COMPARISON —
your small library haughtiness is
a wolf in quiet boots, beast-burdened
with shrinking and thirst, its eyes you
cast into fires go dark: hélas, someone's
unscheduled panting freezes victory again:
whose mud,

crow-blind bone,

will learn this wily place?

these liquids the candy
are timetables is the ink