Distance
Now distance comes and pangs of shame are quelled, Reverberations muffled by that hand Which grasps us when our own need to be held, And feet endeavor vainly for dry land… So here I am—not free of grief and guilt, But rescued from the threat of their dominion By knowledge that the blood’s already spilt And that my fate does not rely on my opinion Of my myself in this my epoch of despair For when I see my face I see a whore: My fingers itch to maul it, for I bear The countenance of someone I... Sign in to see full entry.