If I were a younger man,
I would write a history of human stupidity;
and I would climb to the top of Mount McCabe
and lie down on my back with my history for a pillow;
and I would take from the ground some of the blue-white poison
that makes statues of men;
and I would make a statue of myself, lying on my back, grinning horribly, and thumbing my nose at You Know Who.