MY OWN GAME
WITH DEATH
Having made overtures to the world's own
dousing - the flame that dies down, the
window burnt brown - I figured the sentence
to the key. There is no substance to anything
we see; and I sit alone here, in this tiny, small
room. My markings are those of a quester.
-
Oh then, I shall : let me riddle this rimrock with
some infinite idea, and then seal it away under
lock and key. The small boys play marbles
with cat's eyes and purees. I shall play my
own game with Death.
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