she was running riot;
a few hours of agony had
succeeded in disarming her.

she continued to bore and plug
holes as new as wisdom teeth.

she was anxiously alive,
blushing a little, abstracted;
rushing into his eyes, his round eyes
fixed precisely on her bones
and bruised nerves.

he had been so careless
of the future, this extraordinary
freedom of action as rapid
as oblique innuendoes.

indulgent to all the moves
in his eyes, she still trusted that
she would desert him.
--

i am a wild foam; i do not sink, thrust
from the watercourses of a world
of final adieus. i fearlessly entrusted you
with all the problems with wisdom,
wasting the few rare things in my life.

you are of the same nature elsewhere,
one of savage ingenuity and the probation
you have passed for property.

you are neither miserable nor ashamed,
following the trail of your burdens of
backslidings; but guilt gives us all dignity,
and doubts cast my lot in life.