There is always danger in returning again to the work
That I should have long since left behind as done
With me. Every time I find my way back to it once again
Try to sneak in through some gutter or postern
I find myself subsumed in some small task the work demands
But that is not the total of the work. Perhaps that's why
I never did succeed in it, that the one small part
Of what ought to be a much greater whole
Swallows me up until I find myself shat out again
And flushed somewhere far away
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