I woke in a sweat from a desirous fever in the pocket of yesteryear Where faults have fallen to some I begged not to carry the corpse To not be a queer fish in unforgiving hearts To not be buried in native clay and preserved for cynicism I wish to be a pauper in kind eyes To feel the gravel beneath my knees To wake in a home God had sent my calamity into a deep space from which not even in dreams, Could I ever imagine my escape