The idea of her not home, and legally annulled
From his life--her small crotch not tightened to his
desperate
Thrusts--makes him feel sick. He gets down from the
bus.
He goes to work. He suddenly knows that being in love
is not love.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Earth
I use her earth to plant my seed--
My limbs twisting around the collective molecules,
Trying to dig in.
Only the obscurity of my body
Presses so fully that it is neither
Body nor bed nor the intersection of both,
But euphoric traction;
And then, planted and repulsed,
Only the seam of backbone minutely faces her,
That bed of earth.
With all conscious force
I breathe the aloneness that intangibly defines the
Air. I swallow its ambrosia
Of depth and ask myself
Why I ever married the woman.
There is void.
Then a hollow answer calls my name and says "it was
time."
I realize myself in movement, parting the scene.
I use what has been planted for the reaping--
My suit tucks me into its structure of cotton;
And soon a building will be again the structure
Around men of cotton suits, pushing a product.
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