Rags


Wilderness for welfare,
Athenians all in a little rank
we slipped out the back way

just glad to be of use, really
wiping up the unthinkable
with the untouchable--

a parachute of J-cloths,
linen liberated
for midsummer sneezes--

otherwise they'd be diving
under their desks! reaching
around for the comical

golden shred, the
big booty polish.
Cooking up Woolite

with Worcestershire
in hammocks of lint
the last stage in the life

of an honoured object,
soaked with sap and
strained through particle board

as the world of print
sulphurously beckons;
each thing eventually the receipt

of itself, each hanky
bearing a needlepoint letter
more easily felt than seen.