if i take no turn,
on not the greeting bent as ever was;
when calmed the nerves; claimed all who wasn\'t i.
i pay no price to bubble blood,
nor fidgit tree-limbed centred to the space.
the sea has flown,
from nest to stomach pastures ever new;
to shovel gravel tame as i am vine,
dragging nail and the tailing wind;
the fasting eyes in the hungry head,
kiss me dead
and breathe alone one stranger at a time;
if i take no more,
not once more can i ask,
nor splice the apple green as Adam\'s tongue.
i have rubbed my tickles dry,
graphed my skin one movement in a still.
hill to earth one wagon-ride as the cow-bell hides,
no sentiment nor sentence, red as written word,
will bird my brain an auction lot,
cross palm and Sunday hacksaw on my wrist;
and praise me be, one stranger less each time;
if i take no mind,
no mind can take away,
nor sleeve my arms one second more to chance;
a flying frog on a hogs back picking skin,
if i dare no sign,
no sign dare let me in;
no promise made to he i do not know,
nor she, both mothers to the wound;
if i take too soon,
too soon i give away;
on not the greeting bent as ever was;