I have no strength
left for the putting up of hands and of
elbows in front of my wide face. Hit me
if you want to, not meekness mildness nor
love implores you: this is the broken face, clean
of everything that’s good and all that’s bad.
Once I would have (yesterday even) asked for
someone to stand in front of me, but since
I have stopped becoming a little child and I have seen
that rarely will someone for a better someone even die,
why wait? I am not good or even
better. And I have no strength
for putting up my hands I have no strength.