I like the controlled, refined space of my work table when I write in my notebook.
My dreams have moved into a new house,
with glass doors and religion,
Fat babies scurry here and there
my mind full
is not empty enough to
pray or pay
attention to the day
Here in the Up Hill World
let the inflating flatulence of history
be carried out, dismantled and deflated
and placed on the river
to be retrieved and reorganized downstream
They will use the material for house frames
And garden boxes, landfill and cornerstones.
We have no use for it here up in the tidelands
Where the flat thinkers dwell.
We do not build up, but out, ever out
Expanding our domain beyond use
Or care, we will always use more
When less is called for
Need Is replaced by want
Big things are long and wide
Tall things take up ground in shadows
Obsessing on their girth, but unable
To let go of even the most useless
Part or piece.
It must be sold not given.
Giving is the unforgivin sin
All must have a price even joy
Must be valued.
Is it prime joy or just average?
No one wants anything sufficient.
It must be the best and boldly
Called out so
Or you must not be satisfied.
Satisfaction is only guaranteed by envy
Or in some cases Better performance
to a degree unnecessary for ordinary use.