Seymour is still tuning in Tokyo.
He turns the brassy locks
that stay his armored door,
each one easing out their last two cents:
and keep out
of out of doors.
Needless to speak of muting to Seymour,
his dials are so over-twisted.
His colors have lost their bloomers;
his mouth’s an undone belt!
Numbness this speechless Seymour is
the most rattled of empty cans.