Washing pills down with herbal tea,
like an evil bailiff, I contemplate the worth
of words born within the context
of a universe in slippers and flannels.

There is nothing wrong with seeking
restitution, but where does the respect
for war come from—just because it puts
every man on trial? So does primal solitude.

And I can understand the good intentions
behind the wish for a simple life in a cabin,
but even when faced with a point of no return,
no one likes to be petted, including nature.