I sit hard down, write down rules, an age of alg-
ebra I will not renounce for any good shake of god’s ale or angle
or some other father. Here’s my noes I mouth to no one but two flies alining,
amounting, in air clear between them is my sliver of grace, élan
for no one, the di pteron fold and again my sliver, this grass, genial
grass I’ve known my whole long life this grass, this green gee glen: cupping my proclamations I will I will I will, lag and nag,
weren’t those the magic words when cupped, my hands glean
this earth, this earth retraced me my unlearned effort, gin of nil
it wills it wills it wills. Claimant am I who turns turns away, ail-
ing away until the edge is a place I home until I am alien,
a line at the edge of a line, a nile. | 
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