I get greedy. So summer and winter
Embrace leaving autumn's room temperature
In the dust like a jockey thrown from
A horse that, lighter, went on to win
The race (it had no idea of) but was
Disqualified (which wouldn't have mattered
To it had it not been taken back to
The stables and discreetly shot).

As long as this is a realistic picture
I feel good enough to think life isn't
Passing me by but not so good to think
Life's not passing them by unless I plant
The bugs closer in hopes every Omniscience
Is not the grinch in drag. And such hopes
Only seem to put consummation off
When I forget to defy logic, the death
Of logic as we defy poetry or what poetry
Threatens to be especially if not interrupted

By an urgent call from an angry friend
Who's starting once again to waken to
Her needs that aren't being met or raised
By wolves after being orphaned by decorations
In the halfway house of freedom whose time
Has come and gone and waits in the wings we
Soar on till we crash into the sore
Subject of a skyscraper we slide down
Like firemen en route to put out what
One here among us has most likely set
In hopes of making the consumption
Conspicious unless putting a key in the
Ignition is not seen deferring the high road,

At least as cozy a prison as polite pawing
On the awkward first night when we tried
To sneak through the front following
The directions we misread each time we read
For meaning. You have to do it to understand
The directions. And once you do the directions
Are useless. But we, who love to give
The worthless a shot, even if it means sacrificing
Our center (if it's really our center, it'll
return or seem to as now it seems to leave),
Find new uses for it in finding no uses for it
Since commodification can seep into just about
Any water supply for the sake of a complication
Not picky enough to be the clumsy commercials

In the bigtop that makes the sideshow possible
Where we love each other so much our little
Skit: "Why should I clean when I don't cook?"
"You eat what I cook." "But you would've cooked
It anyway."^�will be put in the past on the
Condition the past can be put in the present
And I wait for a world, a woman who won't
Call this cheating, to blow the gameboard
Of my mind as the prayer for her could
Be seen acting from desire as much as fear.