liturgy

For i have known them all already, known them all--

have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons

i have measured out my life with coffee spoons,

i know the voices dying with a dying fall

beneath the music from a farther room

so how should i presume?

and i have known the eyes already, known them all--

the eyes that fix you in formulated, sprawling on a pin

when i am pinned and wriggling on the wall,

then how should i begin

to spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?

and how should i presume

--T.S Eliot, From The Love Song of J. Alfred Pufrock