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.