For Albert
Orbiting in their concentric circles, or as
An organizational chart, or an animal,
Brought down, neck broken, by wolves,
My life is awkward and largely unsettled.
Plumbers are here, drilling holes into
Walls for the gas line I want to have run
To my stove. My function for them is to
Stay clear until they are done. Then I'll
Pay. Meanwhile, capitalism intrudes,
Less as a serious form of oppression
Than as a concept that those who are
Thought to be thinkers so often are
Thinking about, but such concepts
Are poorly defined and ephemeral.
What is this thing that they've given
That name? When did it rise? How is
It different from hierarchies of other
Sorts adopted by our pack of wolves?
Someone's on top and controls what
We need to survive, like a paycheck
Or broken-necked animal. Things
Never change, though, in concept,
They can, I been told. I've my doubts.
Anyway, I'm still waiting to pay up,
Cook something, and go back to
Reading these thinkers, such fools,
Who insist that existence is neat.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 16 times
Written on 2021-02-10 at 19:21
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Waiting for Lunch
Not neat, in the fashion of circling planets,Orbiting in their concentric circles, or as
An organizational chart, or an animal,
Brought down, neck broken, by wolves,
My life is awkward and largely unsettled.
Plumbers are here, drilling holes into
Walls for the gas line I want to have run
To my stove. My function for them is to
Stay clear until they are done. Then I'll
Pay. Meanwhile, capitalism intrudes,
Less as a serious form of oppression
Than as a concept that those who are
Thought to be thinkers so often are
Thinking about, but such concepts
Are poorly defined and ephemeral.
What is this thing that they've given
That name? When did it rise? How is
It different from hierarchies of other
Sorts adopted by our pack of wolves?
Someone's on top and controls what
We need to survive, like a paycheck
Or broken-necked animal. Things
Never change, though, in concept,
They can, I been told. I've my doubts.
Anyway, I'm still waiting to pay up,
Cook something, and go back to
Reading these thinkers, such fools,
Who insist that existence is neat.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 16 times
Written on 2021-02-10 at 19:21
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text| Texts |
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