Slaughter House.

Stupefied in this vast slaughter house Where the fingers of crude murderers seek The napes of neck the sheaf of hair Forget settled ways now just seek mad heroism. This is the end of me perhaps wind will carry On back of coarse canvas a song of prejudice To torture to kill cut down the sleepy slopes Along hills where spiders set fire to hazel leaves. The forces of intimidation settling on waxpod Marshes Into tasteless heaps of gold and the marbled Symptoms Filled with guillotined leaves ad the barren Forest The universe mislaid now among some nocturnal Trivials.