of hoary work and woe

How I know the droop and downing, drowning crown,

the dragging, slumping, crumpled brown

countenance that is the fossil made of hoary work and woe;

I’ve seen it, smelt the scaffle hook, been pincer pierced by look

of bow-bent woe-bent man on bus, the lobiform and crump of bones

bent low been bent so low by slow by slow progression, a mesh of

grease creased frets and strings, of scars of stings,

of thick scarred sling creased skin.

How slow accretes the scar’s protection,

plodding plots the prey of space, and

praise the pace too plodding slow to see

so see, so too we sow so hard we reap not so,

so we, we only, we, we only sow,

we only.

sigh and slide unconscious off the bus to stumble

home, and home and sleep.