Dead Letter Office (for Bartleby)

Dead letter, dead letter
Another dead letter
No better, no better
It’s getting no better
Inaction, inaction
Inaction is The Way
The only way, the only way
Only way for the color-sucked soul
Fetal position in prison courtyard grass is
Think if grass tickling,
Unscratched, itch develops–
How far will it go?
‘Til death?
Does it then mercifully part from its host?
Will the itch infect the grubs that feed upon the corpse of the unscratched?

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