Callow and amorphous, not gods
but adjectives flung at the sun
whose hot fibers protest their distance

Roll me in protective layers
of yourself, wool scarves.
Take me out in the snow.

City air makes a man free 
To cut his own throat or that
Of his neighbor across the way.

Love in a maze destroyed his force
Regretting free and sunny days.
He mastered compass, chart and course

But if, after so many droning days, 
You try to imagine a quiet country 
Under the soft crush of the tide, 

On the hottest day of the year I rode the mail
To Waterloo Strand and Seaside Macedon
Where, tanned like Egyptians in their Louis-Quatorze

Cold, cold … 
In the end it began to snow 
Mercifully, like bandages 

No, nothing is asleep in this demesne 
      Of scrub pine, washed-out oak; the wet 
           Intrudes on every cache, 

     His mother caught him sitting on the toilet with his pants
down. On the edge of the bathtub, directly in front of him
was a photograph of a naked girl with her pubic hair showing.

This showroom is now open. 
You will see the most complete collection 
of debris fashioned into the necessary shapes.