the bruise will stop later.
For now, pain pauses in its round,
notes the time of day, the patient's temperature,
leaves a memo for the surrogate: What the hell
did you think you were doing? I mean...
Oh well, less said the better, they all say.
I'll post this at the desk.
God will find the pattern and break it.
John Ashbery, A Worldly Country: New Poems, Ecco, 2007