Better a park bench
Than that bed.
Better a long day on the road
Than those awful nights
Better this nothing
Than that nothing
Better this loneliness
Than that
Better an early winding sheet
Than those suffocating blankets
Better the hard clean living sod
Than that billowing white abscess,
That bed of pus and maggots.
All my life I have burnt and cut myself
Now the cold pure wind
Can extinguish
The last charred hacked remains.
Better this death
Than that.