I come with my senility in the dryness of December

Whistling for raindrops and listening to the wind

I have become the boneless man, a putty man

With body plastered upon a granite wall

Nose, eyes and ears trickled like dripping clay

I talked to you with sticky, gooey throat

Pleading words loudly, unheeded and unheard

Like blustery gust on dried quivering twigs

Like stray cats pussyfooting on bladed walks

I am molded without form, colored without tone

A futile odyssey, a motionless struggle 

Charon met me at the banks of the river Styx

Crossing the stiles with ticket willingly paid

Think of me now as though not gone

But as the wretched and troubled soul

As the boneless man, the putty man