One Part Heading Home to Parts Unknown

Huzzah, the Unarmed Man,
Sprawls beneath the fury tree

Lamenting, "Those who can't
Forget the past remain condemned

To repeat it." Memory,
Inventor of every future,

Near and far, he knows, he knows
Has disarmed him, but he won't

Get up without a fight
To dissolve in shade, moldy thought

In a moldy grave. Every knight,
Arms crossed in the Lazarus

Reflex, would wish a great stone
Carved in his bodily likeness

To slide its crushing weight
Over what remains of him,

Every night, dreaming over and 
Over the final instant that memory

Can never teach, the knowing
That nothing guides the beauty

Of the weapon slicing, neatly
Nicking into and between

His thought of being a thinking thing
And him himself, a hymn.