please yourself how you have it.
take my words, and fling
them down on the counter roundly;
see if they ring.
sift my looks and expressions,
and see what proportion there is
of sand in my doubtful sugar
of verities.
have a real stock-taking
of my manly breast;
find out if i'm sound or bankrupt,
or a poor thing at best.
for i am quite indifferent
to your dubious state,
as to whether you've found a fortune
in me, or a flea-bitten fate.
make a good investigation
of all that is there,
and then, if it's worth it, be grateful—
if not then despair.
if despair is our portion
then let us despair.
let us make for the weeping willow.
i don't care.
