I am a rock whose hands have appetites,
I am a rock whose appetites have hands,
I am a thing unresolved into courteous shapeliness.
I am a creature excluded from limbo and hell,
A thing of which heaven prefers to stay well unaware.
Neither pet, nor beast of fields, or beast of the woods,
Nor idiot kept, more or less, in the warmth of the hearth
For the sometime amusement of humans and sarcastic angels.
Nothing exists but it rests on me, at the start,
At the end; but I keep to myself, as no one will have me.
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