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Michael Attie
every scene set to be played,
the setting and the stage
put there by some old man
with dark widespread arms
who. swings me deeper and deeper within the earth.
Stiff, clerkly, he swept by me.
Staring straight ahead strangely:
Leaving the urinal for the fifth or sixth
Time that night and still alone.
He who probably for years had rejected
This Last, most despised of all releases,
Now himself by it to be rejected
Surely must almost craze.
Fearing for him, I followed;
Yet stung only further by my pity
He would not stop. Since that night
I have not seen him again.
The bear puts both arms around the tree above her
And draws it down as if it were a lover
And its choke cherries lips to kiss good-bye,
Then lets it snap back upright in the sky.
Her next step rocks a boulder on the wall
(She’s making her cross-country in the fall).
Her great weight creaks the barbed-wire in its staples
As she flings over and off down through the maples,
Leaving on one wire tooth a lock of hair.
Such is the uncaged progress of the bear.
The world has room to make a bear feel free;
The universe seems cramped to you and me.
Man acts more like the poor bear in a cage
That all day fights a nervous inward rage,
His mood rejecting all his mind suggests.
He paces back and forth and never rests
For some men I grieve.
Some men I hate!
And this wretched world
To me, weighted down with care,
Is a place of misery.
We remember what
we said in the night,
but do the men?
Sandy Star and Willie Gee,
Count 'em two, you make 'em three:
Pluck the man and boy apart
And you'll see into my heart.
A woman, like the touted Sphinx,
Sits, and God knows what she thinks;
Hard-boiled men, who never fall,
Say she doesn't think at all.
The paper carp,
At the end of its long bamboo pole.
Takes the wind into its mouth
And emits it at its tail.
So is man.
Forever swallowing the wind.