You

Be yourself; show your flyblown eyes
to the world, give no cause for concern,
wash the paunchy body whose means you
live within, suffer the illnesses

that are your prerogative alone -

the prognosis refers to nobody but you;
you it is who gets up every morning
in your skin, you who chews your dinner

with your mercury-filled teeth, gaining
garlic-breath or weight, you dreading,

you hoping, you regretting, you interloping.

The earth has squeezed you in, found you space;

any loss of face you feel is solely yours -

you with the same old daily moods, debts.

intuitions, food fads, pet hates, Achilles' heels.

You carry on as best you can the task of being,

whole-time, you; you in wake and you in dream,

at all hours, weekly, monthly, yearly, life,

full of yourself as a tallow candle is of fat,

wallowing in self-denial, self-esteem.