Is there in all this I need?
Does this valediction play or stutter?
To what end can I talk?
Whose value is diminished by my efforts?
Is that appearance mine or my own?
Who breaks these boundaries?
Must this be a question still?
Will the visible world survive my blindness?
No: it will leach and calify
Caught up in a symbolic teleology
That rebounds like hail on a paranoiac
Or my shadow trailed in darkness
Which is all the vain work of my hands
Or the directed utterance of my throat
Proving whether it is even soluble first
Before we tackle the question of need.