Mrs Eliot explains why Plato is hungry

clackety clack
how dare you deflate my metaphors you naughty naughty oboe
how your mother monstered you beyond your origin
how she opened the ground for you but now nothing ever can come out

clickety click
and the guillotine redemption, humph, basket case, etc.
she saw you clandestine at matins invisible
at vespers massless at mass, good God, never have I

had to use these terms before
now days rock forth and nights abandon
sleep forever there being no more pathways
to the sun I’ll just shut my eyes and knit on in the dark