, where I was raised,
But none of it is mine
Nothing is ours--humanity drifts along
And intersects briefly in alliances My friends
Are co-workers whom I must expire
My life with civilly
As we light cigarettes
And bitch of no new raises
When would she pull on my arm
Tugging me thoroughly into breaking glass
Of the 12th floor conference room
To fall, putting me out violently,
When I can no longer dream
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-
Mid-West Hymn of Aten
Aten, where it is throned on the television beneath
the window,
Sees above and below and says nothing:
It enjoys the woman secretary and the road constructor
Who from opposite shifts of the sun
Come to it, the cat;
Follow the roaming in its mansion;
Pensively laugh as it clings to hundred dollar drapes;
Feed it holiday popcorn on the throne;
And close the drapes that the cat, Aten
Had opened by its tugging,
And will open again:
Opening below
Where the woman, statue of her liberty
Wedged in a mud layered hill of snow
Ankle-thrusts
The tilt of her body after a moment of standing
still:
Face looking in the trash receptacle that her
flabby
Breasts rest on the rim of and point toward; head
bowed
To the tin; And mind distinguishing between good
and
Bad trash.
Pages:
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52