is a variant of the ancient mover who's
stray as the upturned Word
—and flung with thumb-pulsion across!—
It's the hideous you know
& enough to make you die
for what moves the idea of it, my dear
comes twixt & tween:
is a tic in the fur or an intolerable scaly
note of so- and- so--
right terrible tetchy screech of bone (time?)
& harder than you'll ever be
"So how do you know we're not
in a black-hole, right now, stretched, dying?"
Right again, dear!