With this poem,

I spit a tankard of anger

and another of greed,

hack the fizzing residues

from my ribs.

I take such faulty measures:

set a wood bead in each thumbprint and eye,

tally the dashes cut into tablet and wall:

These do not equal the sadness

my own judgment causes me.

Go out and measure the sea:

footfall upon dune,

borderline of reed and foam,

breakers, horizon.

Pour out the tidefuls

before the next moon.