Hear, O world. I will read this
proclamation. This is my day
not yours. My mouth to overcome.
After many years the knees get
lazy. People die. Sorrow invades
the gut. We must be very clear.
All those miles of ink mean something.
It is an incantation. The sound
of the pages filling. Now the wind
reaches its bony fingers around
my neck. I am turning my back
upon the gods. Fate can take a hike.
That mountain to my left is calling,
calling. It is good the sun goes to
the west to sleep. Old age means
nothing. You can see the clouds
link arms. I am asked to follow.
Arise, words, see how the body flies.