I'm still, in a little hole here,
Of powder and puce,
(And those, whom I still hold dear,)
Of pumice and use.
(Are arrayed in a noose.)
I've found, in a gesture of fear,
An unbidden truth,
(Looming, my gallows so clear,)
I've bitten in truce.
(Though they've yet to deduce.)
Quite-eyed, making moonbeams to falter
In delusional bent
(Malaise, such as described in my psalter,)
Or spears heaven-sent.
(Hath borne sunder and rent.)
