Do I dissemble when
a man among men,
I do what I can;
no more, say, than
any other man?

Do I dissemble if
I, afraid, and stiff
with a paralyzing dread,
see myself instead,
botched, bungled, inbred?

I'm old enough now
to know better than how
this and that man should
act. But I do no good
by being understood

either. My circumstance
is or isn't due to chance.
Our contingencies are as casual
as all calculations are; the usual
accident precedes the ineffectual.