The sullen toe that rots and wakes for pain...

The sullen toe that rots and wakes for pain,
And pound the auger through the dead bones,
Thrust me out dark and naked, gripping the last tree’s burl,
And let the thick blood caper to an end;
Let my last heap of soft flesh dangle in the wet wind.

Sink me in the sea crying for the low ebb,
And drop the prickly poison on my rotting flank,
Forever I hear the hot gurgle of blood,
And dry the pressing fluids which break the hunkers;
Let my last heap of soft flesh rest in pools of ivy.

Awake, awake, let me hear the dull jangle of day,
And crack the aching knurl of my back,
Lace the pain through the punctured veins,
And burn the marrow in the fiendish act;
Let my last heap of soft flesh inflict the nostril sense.

Blow me off this dusty orb,
And bandage my buried box with the darkest pall,
Mercy will never echo my vain quails from the bite,
And tie me to my pumping heart’s old reek;
Let my last heap of soft flesh sizzle in the evening fires.

Hang the fetid tassels above my shady shrine,
And seep the settled urine through my guts,
The vaunting murmurs of old eyes shall rise,
And toss the rocks upon me for every crying whiffle;
Let my last heap of soft flesh feed the xylem of the Tree.

The sullen toe that rots and wakes for pain,
And force my monster to bleed and yelp;
Let my last heap of soft flesh dance before the black zipper.