Day after day , I will yield the top of my skull
Down into the deepest of its nakedness
Day after day my asceticism
The lashing virtue of accuracy
In the ocean of unnecessary particles
The floods, I will keep wide-open eyes under the salt

Whatever might it cost of soft'n sweet
The nearly cheery fatal choice is settled
On defying the illusions and watching, discreet
The rare flickers of the axioms
Asserting themselves as the beat time of  sacred fears
The blue mover of doubt

Nothing will ever be penetrable
Of the other's simulacra
But to keep on opening the arms
With at the bottom of his flight, the wish to hear a call
Day after day I listen from afar
To the yawns of boredom under the bark  


April 2016