Thy conscience ofttimes estimates
       Itself by itself midst dark logics
             Of the old slate-grey slate of slates.
             I am no creature of "chaotics"
Desiring to pry into dry changeable ways.

Fade slowly into that quietude,
   That lonely but desired emptiness.
Be fainter than faint in solitude;
And accompany Misery at high interest--
A use of usury that leaves many dues.

Now come haunting thoughts of Oblivion,
Not a one canst I undo at all without your
Granting; and I cannot move with any idiom
Anything if you stall to so wish it or implore--
Because it is not mine, nor is it my decision.

"Hurrry,  hurry to bodies of great water! " Waves yell among another.
The undertow licks the rock botttom waiting for ones ownself to slip on their saliva.
And the skin crawls happily among the great chaotics of water.
So loud, sk gleeful, and yet danger awaits under.
"Hurry, hurry to bodies of great water!" Waves scream as they play.
Eager ever still like a puppy, just to embrace their salty lover.
"Sleepy, so sleepy and tired are we. " They yawn and become one.
Journey complete while still asleep.
In the arms of their salty lover.