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TheHead-Aim Sick ofyour arms, You must follow an endless track Into the world that crawls, That gets up on four legs When the moon rises from a bed ofgrass, The night one vast and vivid Tangle ofscents. You must throw your arms Like broken sticks into the alder creek And learn to aim the head. There is nothing you can pick up With fingers any more, nothing But the new head choked with long teeth, The jaws, on fire with rabies, Lifting out ofthe weeds. This is the whole secret ofbeing Inhuman: to aim the head as you should, And to hold back in the body What the mouth might otherwise speak: Immortal poems-those matters oflife and deathWhen the lips curl back And the eyes prepare to sink Also, in the jerking fur ofthe other. Fox, marten, weasel, No one can give you hands. Let the eyes see death say it all Straight into your oncoming face, the head Not fail, not tell. Dark Ones We in all lights are coming Home transfixed and carried away From where we work: Falling, May Day Sermon, and Other Poems / 270 ...

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