all I should do
with nothing I can do,
joint at the elbows
beyond the corner where I reach'd

there was so much I needed,
so much I wished,
much I could have been—
but regrets.

shan't I ever, be or possess
any hope, nor faith, nor regret.
for I became what I of myself made,
and although corrupted my chariot I carry,

as the prying animals
in the sky vigile
my entrails.
thus I remain unrepentant.