From December 2020
The stark face of corporate America glares down at me,
jutting metal upwards and a frenzied high of drab wonder.
Glassy eyes and legs thrusting, lodged beneath concrete.
Inside are clinking chalices of elderly grape and thunder
and they chuckle, lukewarm in their stomachs and glum.
Grand Ballroom, hearing one over another and one under
and they gorge themselves on handshakes, twiddling thumb
flesh in waves and fabric brushing back and forth. The next day
a murky delirium in 1st period art lasting two hours or some.
