Gazillionaire Merging with Nature
I won’t put my name on buildings and companies.
I’ll hire delicate lawyers and let them float.
I’ll take as my model
the bonsai master
imposing a pattern of imaginary storms
on a complicated tree….
Until my wealth develops
its own gravity
swelling, ebbing, augmenting
my wires.
And my lobbyists’ language displaces
real weather.
And the lovely law
becomes a poem about me.
Windfall of Meat
The truck quit because its battery
was not an Interstate battery.
I quit kung fu because the cops
in the class chopped too hard.
But when I unpack the Foodlion bags,
I find along with the peas and cheese
a free frozen chicken!
I will always want your samurai
on guard against misfortune’s ninjas.
When I was a frogman,
I swam through your sleep.
Despite the hooks and pricks of jobs
and the body’s time fetish
and the blasphemy of traffic
and the never disappearing skin
between you and me,
when you were a ninja,
I was your truck’s battery.
When I rode the interstate,
you were my kung fu.
The chickens we’ve eaten!
The cops we‘ve lost!
The frozen peas we’ve slingshot
at misfortune’s swans!
Against the hooks and scrapes
of time, I’m offering you
this sandwich.
I’m blaspheming traffic.
I’m mincing some celery.
I’m holding your hand while you eat.
And if the economy collapses,
your joints inflame,
and the bare machinery of attitude
hums, hot and frizzling,
uninsulated,
in our cognitive workboxes,
I’ll feed your dream
the fish it wants.
I’ll be your free chicken.
We’ll finish our donuts.
We’ll chop our sleep
from the blasphemy of work.
And despite the hotties of the planet,
I’ll want you like the moon
wants its beloved oceans back.
Keep reading!
