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Suffocation is not dependent upon the weather.
His tentacles can sprawl themselves across the tablet
Of wisdom’s rule, wrapping their
Suctions about the words of chisel-carved predilect.
Neither hot nor cold can prevent their coming;
When the host’s mind decides on the course of insanity,
The breeze shakes not the extension.
The rain fogs not the lens of the seer,
And if left to the realm of suffocation, himself,
The child wanders not in hoped living.
It takes a most strong will to drag him from his waters
Of safe altar-rails
To the dry land of earthquakes and thugs.
Only here can his temper be challenged,
And his arms be severed by reason.