Verrà la morte e avrà i tuoi occhi. . .

You've heard my complaints, read them again and again. And yet, and yet, certain things I must unburden my mind of: the new knowledge that the most conclusive results come from the smallest tests, and, totally unrelated, the double invagination of the chiasmus. Brought to you by Derrida, this -- a kiss on a dear red lip of rhetoric.

Poked, I get up again, to persevere purposelessly, to snatch days from the calendar, though truly only robbing myself in doing so, until one day when my thumbs are tied upon my chest and I rest,

Verrà la morte e avrà i tuoi occhi. . .

but it will be a quiet realization and one that will occur too late.

Right now, goddamn-you's still seem too gentle.