They removed the only
inspiration from [his] back
The only dagger that
followed the attack
The one thing so distant
to embrace in [his] arms
Like [his] assailant
—the wheel of storms
So quickly—it returns...
You open your eyes; one learns
I set out to get by, a lucky stroke
I got the hint when I awoke
There's no profit, ever too small,
That keeps coming affordable
Never [is/was] a given need
That satisfies when you bleed.