Some journeys never promise a return:

  You set out late, barefoot, at night,

    Through oblique hours

    Themselves in flight;

And there are journeys without ways at all:

  You pass through wastes of withered heath,

    Through arguments

    Like a comb’s teeth;

Then there are journeys that you cannot take:

  You chew raw flesh on both your thumbs,

    You tilt your glass

    And darkness comes.