EVERYTHING IS OUR PRISON

Everything is our prison.
When in your doom, you fall,
Ha, think how it was Newton who knew it all,
Who discovered the universal law,
Not one thing—everything kills you in purple, white, tooth, and claw.
There is no individual thing.
The talented know an old giant book when they sing.
Not one girl, but all love, all things pertaining to love
Trap you and make you cry to God above,
“Help me! She broke my heart!”
Well that’s because she knows the art
Because the art is practiced everywhere:
The secret of it is wrapped up in every girl’s hair.
Everything—not her—makes you despair.
Everything, not your mother,
Nursed you. Everything. No other.