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The Dome and Our Lives
"Joe is home now" I write to you on a marvelous day. The sun rhapsodizes and snakes dance The banal waltz in the weather's one alcove. All trivia seems larger than life: poetry Is a wild animal breathing down my neck. I think you think now on fishing and the soul, Seeing where flies ride doubledeck, and ponder Contented as a beer on ice, for no need to admit Anything to yourself now the seduction is over And you rest on tide of compliant rhythms. You pose like a bright penny in the sun, Eye on the principle of happiness and the income. Many minutes I have slipped into the till, Many I withdrew with you and never a statement (Unless some day I compile the report and forward it to you). Presently the sour hilarity of a Puerto Rican wake Dogs my bereavement; I cannot hide in my senses. Wild as witches' spell the breath of you Gallivants in my environs, not innocent, not cool; Even swimming is sensual, same and no way of escape. Fish then, and lullaby the biscuit-grabber; In extrovert abandon deadline the night Wherein memory as a gadget wracks destruction- Which I know, who dissected the past for data, Who hold introvert seizure of the contrary moment. Finally I find the conundrum that embraces us So that though we are lost we are together: The answer is not outside any of our windows, It is the draped stranger, the unknown you call George While I seek an introduction before I die of pride.