Mass Man

His was the occult balance and the bunches of ploys and oblique blocks. He called them my little theaters .

And the joke books, like a cool hereafter, and the jinxed feeling he had just crossing the boulevard-

These he sought protection from like a child skittish around small dogs.

He feared the larrup of a martinet, though none lived in his city.

Still he loved the hard pan and the form work and to mill around, languorous as a lamp trimmer,

In the retail shops and old movie houses. He'd sit for hours, harrumphing and then mum, then hurt

About his rights, in a lather about loan blends and stem-winders, avoiding the minyans and mowed lawns.

There was no way to tease the foul inflections from his mind, so he paired off alone, became a fluke,

Hocked his nice-nellyism, and loaded his heart against the enemies of the state.