Life’s been cold.
So, I’ve grown a concrete coat.
That’s what it takes.
Life’s been choked.
So, I broke three thousand throats.
That’s what it takes, dear.

Half-sound, half-drowned,
the only Movement’s t’ward ground.
But, birth’s in Earthen dirt,
Domine fimus.
That’s what it takes.
You feel a low flame memory:
Summer long ago.
Astride, you glide and cry.
Open-faced, open….
That’s what it takes, dear.

I don’t want your AH-AH-AH-AH arms
AH-AH-AH-AH arms

I don’t need 
your march for the dead of heart.

I don’t want your hug-of-war.
hug-of-war.

I don’t need your…
I don’t need your…
I don’t need you.