Yes, I know that this one was collected in Come on In!, but this seems to most appropriate place to post this. One version below is from The New Censorship, Vol 4. No 2 and the other is collected posthumously.
The Disease of Existence
dark, dark, dark.
insanity tides the moon.
this motion is constant.
once, I imagined, that
in my old age
there would be
peace.
not this,
this insufferable
relentless
pressure.
humanity brings me
this
as in the beginning.
I was not born to be
with these
yet here I am
with only death to
comfort me
but not quite
for in death
they
might be there
too.
so there's no chance
of total
hope,
just this waiting
among them,
sitting here
tonight
caught
fixed,
the hours, the years,
this minute
mutilated with and
before
me.
___________________________________________________________________
The Disease of Existence
dark, dark, dark.
humanity's shadow
shrouds the moon.
the process is
eternal.
once, I imagined that
in my old age
there would be
peace.
but not this:
dark humanity's
insufferable
relentless
presence.
humanity claws
at me
as persitently
now
as in the
beginning.
I was not born to be
one with them
yet here I am
with only
the thought
of death
and that final
separation
to comfort me.
so there's no chance,
no
hope,
just this waiting,
sitting here
tonight
surrounded
unsure
caught
transfixed,
the hours, the years,
this minute,
mutilated.
The Disease of Existence
dark, dark, dark.
insanity tides the moon.
this motion is constant.
once, I imagined, that
in my old age
there would be
peace.
not this,
this insufferable
relentless
pressure.
humanity brings me
this
as in the beginning.
I was not born to be
with these
yet here I am
with only death to
comfort me
but not quite
for in death
they
might be there
too.
so there's no chance
of total
hope,
just this waiting
among them,
sitting here
tonight
caught
fixed,
the hours, the years,
this minute
mutilated with and
before
me.
___________________________________________________________________
The Disease of Existence
dark, dark, dark.
humanity's shadow
shrouds the moon.
the process is
eternal.
once, I imagined that
in my old age
there would be
peace.
but not this:
dark humanity's
insufferable
relentless
presence.
humanity claws
at me
as persitently
now
as in the
beginning.
I was not born to be
one with them
yet here I am
with only
the thought
of death
and that final
separation
to comfort me.
so there's no chance,
no
hope,
just this waiting,
sitting here
tonight
surrounded
unsure
caught
transfixed,
the hours, the years,
this minute,
mutilated.