Life's a marble in a bowl: All agony but a rolling chance, The bullfight no longer a dance Of misdirection toward a goal. Life's a story with no moral; Condensation's circles yet No ring of meaning can beget. Race to rail against the choral Loves hossannaed by the mass Of men, who see their circle Flout timid time and weary wrinkle, Whose dreams go buried by the grass. Know that your own nothingness A nothingness stays, a felt Backdrop or dead pelt Stroked by hands half calluses. There's no lesson to be learned From all the tarnished marvel Of our mayhem, still the larval Stage of chaos for we damned. Impotent in the pouring wrack Of disaster's icy hail Stripping deep with red-hot flails Splintered skin that'd been my back. I stand in draining anger, Half-aghast to understand Myself am likewise but a man Dreaming Fate is not a stranger.