Someone once took my hands from me
And held them up for all to see
And said, “One day there’ll be one last race,
But until that day comes to be
All that you will ever see
Is a grown man’s pain burned in a boy’s face.”
He laughed when I said I could
Pay the price that no one would.
He clapped my hands so I could keep pace.
“When you dance with the mice you meet
And finally pay off your piece,
Who will you truly come to hate?”

And I said,

“My simpatico
I can see you now.
Crust of flesh on Chinese clay
Wear my hands around your name.
My simpatico
Contradicting answer all.
Lone Masonic birch beam
From which angels hang down.

How I hate you.
How I hate you.”

Today that man can scarcely breathe.
His lips quiver when he speaks.
And he said, “This isn’t how I’d hoped it’d end.
I’ve worn too much into the road.
The bags I carry no longer hold.
This young man ate more than he could taste.”
He gave my hands back to me
And murmured so quietly,
“Who have you truly come to hate?”

And I say,

“My simpatico
I can see you now.
Crust of flesh on Chinese clay
Wear my hands around your name.
My simpatico
Contradicting answer all.
Lone Masonic birch beam
From which angels hang down.

My simpatico,
I can’t feel at all.
A grown man’s pain burned in my face.
Your memory fades, but not erased.
My simpatico,
Premonitory vagabond.
Save me from my yesterday.
Show me what I’ll come to be.

How I hate you.
How I hate you.

Tomorrow the dawn
Will light the way.
To show you
That I’ve nothing to say.
How I hate you
Is how I hate me.
You shared in my pains.
You’ll share in my dreams.”