It Is Worth While Dying, To Find

I Am Tired With My Own Life And The Lives Of Those After Me, I Am Dying In My Own Death And The Deaths Of Those After Me.

Survival Is Your Strength Not Your Shame.

For I Have Known Them All Already, Known Them All— Have Known The Evenings, Mornings, Afternoons, I Have Measured Out My Life With Coffee Spoons.

I Do Not Know Much About Gods; But I Think That The River Is A Strong Brown God-sullen, Untamed And Intractable, Patient To Some Degree, At First Recognized As A Frontier; Useful, Untrustworthy, As A Conveyor Of Commerce; Then Only A Problem Confronting The Builder Of Bridges. The Problem Once Solved, The Brown God Is Almost Forgotten By The Dwellers In Cities-ever, However, Implacable. Keeping His Seasons, And Rages, Destroyer, Reminder Of What Men Choose To Forget. Unhonored, Unpropitiated By Worshippers Of The Machine, But Waiting, Watching And Waiting.

I Should Have Been A Pair Of Ragged Claws/ Scuttling Across The Floors Of Silent Seas.