When there's no use living for or against it,
What's the use at all?

We manage.

And we are so cut up inside, you and I,
That it's a wonder the outside
Keeps from caving in

(Does he hear, I wonder?
You, effing and blinding through the night,
with hands pressed and whitening?)

Our arms are our buttresses
Wincing from the weight of crosses upon steeples to bear
Held fast to one another
And shaking from the new brave storm.

We (magnificent) manage.