And just a couple more.
I'm sort of toward the end of the manuscript here.
XXXI.
"I'll say it first.
These songs are worth a flower in the purse,
averse to heaven's universe.
Made for the Earth with its grim course and, of course,
adorned with what is interspersed.
Desire.
Hurt.
Endorsement.
Curse.
I'll say it first.
I'm as poor as a horse with a flower in its purse.
And where are you?
You are entertained by the bargain,
half-drunk self-disdain.
Liquid like paint spilling into the margin.
A Barnett Newman, Francis Bacon, or Elaine de Kooning
of earthly ensign, I, Totoquihuatzli, maligned.
I'll say it first.
I'm as poor as a flower intermittently
consented sight of itself."