It’s a peculiar
sort of peril,

this promise beholden
to flesh and fate,

that pinions our limbs
to soil and state,

and imparts its secrets
far too late.

So winnow the pleasure
from what is impure,

delight in the
dangerous and the obscure,

distinguish with care
between brazen and brave,

and don’t trust a man who
has dug his own grave.