(no subject)
to what end?
To what end
do I make coffee? With what caution, now,
do I pour the fat into its can
after a meal is made?
What impetus attempts to nurse
open my eyes, to get me out of bed?
Not even the tulips, round and white,
in their vase upon the sill, dawn smoothing
over them as over a forehead,
can answer this, this morning.
What measure of my prowess I have had,
has been from men. On the corner in Montréal:
"oui, vous êtes belle!" However, in America,
they saw me more clearly. I dug up the cheapest ones,
sparked them to life, and then regretted it.
Now they, reanimated, walk the earth, dissatisfied but aren't they all,
cheating death. No telling how many girls they have had
after me.
Each night before retiring
I remind myself not to eat the next day, and the next.
Every morning I forget.
I eat the day.
My belly grows and grows.
And to what end?
What I want is a wreath of roses
draped about my neck.
A rewarding crowd admitting
I have done my best--
But they only come out clapping--
when I am-- thin!
To what end
do I make coffee? With what caution, now,
do I pour the fat into its can
after a meal is made?
What impetus attempts to nurse
open my eyes, to get me out of bed?
Not even the tulips, round and white,
in their vase upon the sill, dawn smoothing
over them as over a forehead,
can answer this, this morning.
What measure of my prowess I have had,
has been from men. On the corner in Montréal:
"oui, vous êtes belle!" However, in America,
they saw me more clearly. I dug up the cheapest ones,
sparked them to life, and then regretted it.
Now they, reanimated, walk the earth, dissatisfied but aren't they all,
cheating death. No telling how many girls they have had
after me.
Each night before retiring
I remind myself not to eat the next day, and the next.
Every morning I forget.
I eat the day.
My belly grows and grows.
And to what end?
What I want is a wreath of roses
draped about my neck.
A rewarding crowd admitting
I have done my best--
But they only come out clapping--
when I am-- thin!