There is just a half page
Remaining, my eyes are blurry
With seismic ink
Assurance of tasks completed
Of sums and currencies
Accomplishment and conversion, then
A door bell rings three times
Recognition and the rescue is complete
My blank will remain so
The asylum seeker will have
Accommodation considered some other time
I can hear descending limbs and torso
I cannot find notgeld
I cannot see the tricolour
But here some great dulled reflection and
Show-off matt shadows quiver
Against the self, against
The one-way portrait
Thumping feet two floors up
Alter the flow of memory
Erase fleeting thoughts and
Produce a drubbing
For this, there is no substitute
I stretch the calf and drain lymph
I move withershins, but
Will the cartlidge
Carry me through one more turn
Of this heartless barren stone?
We discuss the three drives
But do not really touch on shriveldom