"Pacing the thin streets made long by thought, I jingled metaphysics in my purse, caught the lecture circuit and cleaned-up with bunk. My brother in the arts, Dr. Blank, got skunked 5 by every whorehouse publisher to come down the twisting pike. 'Some of my best friends...' he would say, and stop. He was forgetting syllables by this time, on top of everything else. Fifth in my class 10 at Harvard (seminary) I used to pass my historic heirloom polo shirts around like greeting cards and prostletized humility. A liberal education's hard to come by these days. We would sit and stare. If only to live one did not eat the air! 15 Safe on my white soap-box, I did drool and gibber liquid like a priest. The fool who made me call him mentor did me in.--- He thought my thesis too encyclopedian and useless to the race. Why I'd hold the hand 20 of any povero insensato in the land. The blue air cracks against the chimney-smoke of this midwestern coal town. These days I have to choke the hissing words back down my throat to save my shovelling job, the boss' swelling goat. 25 Now lost and dazed beneath the white camellia, I meditate at lunch-time on the sacrosanct and familiar."
From the collection "Red Bank"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.