I’d drown tenderly
In fermented seas
Just to slip
From her hateful glance

Away from her
The gilded slander
Its devilish arc
So sly
Yet horrid in its fall

I’d rather adhere
To the snarling bedlam of wolves
Torn asunder
To a blood-sopping husk

I’d rather drift away
And be hatefully coiled
In a cold-lonesome breeze
Till I’m firm with death

As a stray autumn leaf
In the howling fray
The ever- looming dark
And the far and wide
Orchards of grey

I’d much prefer
All these lesser
Of sorrows