Who knows

The hot stung days

And brittle cold nights

Of keeping a great poison pure.

As if it weren't enough:

These blank eyes,

This useless armour,

Automatic claws that rasp--

Body that lives,

That lives apart from ... that other.

Who among you will think of me

When my night arrives,

When I rise over the dunes,

When the long neck of this

Tail of mine draws back

To strike the heel

Of my only moon.