Be arbitrary.  Be anybody.
The world of capital
forgives every choice

just keep choosing.
Only the hermit is villainous,
probably verminous,

disagreeable, old.
All the wrong things.  He
of all men is not arbitrary.

He has chosen nothing
and nothing has accepted him
as her bride.

They live together
anywhere far away.
Sometimes I have dared to climb

the easier rock slopes of their abstruseness,
could even hear them talking from far off,
a man saying nothing with all his heart.