My mind’s a thread unwinding; I
pluck at darkness, which falls.
It won’t let the stupids out; it
suffers them to bray and shout,
these Attic businessmen and women:
busy, they are knitting spirit doilies.
Must I endure like a disease the bad
and bright side of the living’s enemies?
But who am I asking? We are so
few than farther between might be.
You cannot hear me; you are denying everything,
soiled by the crossways unclean:
strapped in a cocoon of the secondary.
- excerpt from MEASURING GRAVITY BY GRACE, Poems 1970-1980, Vol.1, 128 pages, $11.99
- my books – http://www.amazon.com/Dean-J.-Baker/e/B00IC6PGQM
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