As I walked out of
the sound and fury,
out of the harsh summer night,
I seemed to have walked
into yet another world
of conclusiveness.

My quibbling with words now over,
the earth stood upon
seemed to yield the fruits of my labor,
some more marmoreal metaphors
that pushed me into an assumptive
fugue of surplusages
to adjust all my sorrows
into the vocabulary of silence.