Clarified by the stillbirth of desire,
automaton I walk a narrowing way.
Signs and colors vanish: a pall of gray
covers my eyes, dissembling sullen fire.
Touch what I will, its essence slips away:
I reach, but, gloved and swaddled, only find
all tepid, harmless, smooth, of neutered kind:
Dissolve, O Lord, my silent prison stay.
Damn me if I'll live in padded walls!
I'll be trouble's servant if I must,
but God save me from collaboration.
Surely there exists a congregation
where I may company, harmonious,
with kindred minds, beyond weak love's withdrawal.