Thursday, February 7, 2013

At the Financial Presentation

The analyst speaks
Well and sharply
As the secret poet
Scans the room
Looking for people
Also making
Their mental escape.

We pour the coffee
Into our cups
And dream
Of climbing mountains
Hunting goats
Haunting dojos
To fight samurais

Get through our days
Stealing prices of time
In various ways

We stumble,
Poems and scribbles
Tumbling from pockets,
Betray our heretical lives

In our world I’ve bedded
A million women,
A million Philistines
At the golden door.

I am king pirate
In a desolate
Future-medieval world,
A gift to women
And a revered artist
Stuck in my petrified cocoon
Growing rusted and insane.