Fallen grief – a muck of a man

Not that she had no equal, not that she was
His before flesh was his or the world was;
Not that she had the especial excellence
To make her cat-indolence and shrew-mouth
Index to its humanity. […]

“Any woman born”, he said, “having
What any woman born cannot but have,
Has as much of the world as is worth more
Than wit or lucky looks can make worth more;
And I, having what I have as a man
Got without choice, and what I have chosen,
City and neighbour and work, am poor enough
To be more than bettered by a worst woman.
Whilst I am this muck of a man in this
Muck of existence, I shall not seek more
Than a muck of a woman: wit and lucky looks
Were a ring disablign this pig-snout,
And a tin clasp on this diamond.”

By this he meant to break out of the dream
Where’s admiration’s giddy mannequin
Leads every sense to motley; he meant to stand naked
Awake in the pitch dark where the animal runs,
Where the insects couple as they murder each other,
Where the fish outwait the water.

The chance changed him:
He has found a woman with such wit and looks
He can brag of her in every company.


This muck of a man I am in this muck of existence,
Through twenty years of twists and turns and missed chances,
Found, lost, nearly found again, only to let slip away
And now found once more,
(When at last, Chance deigned to become Destiny)
That giddy mannequin come to life,
Of such wit and lucky looks,
That I want only for her company, and her for mine
But yet…
This pig-snout snorts and chafes at the ring
Senses mottled, despairingly awake in the dark
A naked swine am I, rolling in this muck of existence
Delirious for dreams of murder and coupling

Why did I awake…