In-
c-
an-
de-
scent
co-
met-
s
doubl-
e cross
night
sky,
blood-
ied, bow-
leg,
raging ‘-
gainst
th-
e machi-
ne of
our liv-
es as
i-
f
liver
were
Blake’s
s-
word
& ly-
ric
e-
nun-
c-
iatio-
n
de-
mol-
i-
sh
tap-
es-
tries
of
fei-
g-
ne-
d
ac-
com-
mo-
datio-
n.
I
nev-
er
cou-
ld be
tha-
t,
dri-
fting
dow-
nwin-
d, tru-
st-
ing no-
thi-
ng but
dark fl-
ash
of fu-
til-
e fis-
sures.
D-
eath
bein-
g an
e-
vent
not
of th-
is worl-
d bu-
t c-
om-
ing:
qui-
x-
o-
ti-
c,
i-
m-
mo-
bi-
l-
e,
free.