The comforts of a creature are beside me.  Why?

Does my disdain for ‘self’ fate me such reprise?

Have I suffered too much alone to look into a lover’s eyes?

I run in the forest at night and leap amidst trees during storms.

I have been warned that such is much too foolish.
(“And running in cemeteries in the fog?” “Much too ghoulish.”)

So a fool and his life are soon separated, it’s time,

It’s time to climb an oak, tie myself to, and watch the lighting dance

As if to strike, as if to tease “so you think this makes you a man?”

Ah the taunt…again!  But I taunt back: “You flash, but where’s the fight? 

“Your flash is not so bright.” (Nor my taunt, it would seem, while so dangling.)

When did I last drink a wine so fine
that I can’t remember the grape of issue?

When last did a woman press her lips upon me
and tear into my heart seizing that voluptuous tissue? 
I don’t dare remember...  shh!.

Because the comforts of a creature are beside me now,

never nearer, but hidden and still out of reach.