I prayed for madness and the madness came
Weakness and pain from thinking of oneself
I thought to find images for poetry

I knew I could not long allay
The specter the scavenger the spider
The greedy urge to hint that I had erred

I fly backward an astronaut unmoored
The future showed itself a fearful time
The past with its joys recedes before me

One seven billionth of the current population
The toy the infinitesimal earth
I count syllables on my knuckle bones

My hands are bad my eyes my ears all bad
Broken teeth and a palsied slothful tongue
A gait ungainly unprepared to dance

A thousand voices compete within me
The least truthful rises above the rest
That I am the cause of my own unease

One voice hushed like a nocturnal creature
Furtive in the vast complex forest
Wide eyes and a soft note of compassion