Sorrow and the eyes watch,
It is a golden show.
It is the big sorrow,
Feelings less than a carcass
On an asphalt road somewhere
In the Rust Belt.
Nonetheless, you are beautiful,
But be careful!
A man in a black suit and Irish cigar
Might come out of the plain white house
From the field of cornstalks,
Tall and fresh like sugar cane
To suck the juice out from under you,
And drain you as his new PRINZESSIN,
Princess of the dark and fields
And NOTHING MORE.
Cut your hair and wear this skirt, he said.
Shave your legs and act more like a girl, he said,
Or I will find myself a real one who will
The pretty powder-pink shirt I like, he continued.
Of course you implore him, you always have-
Of course, of course you will.
He is the eye of God,
And you are all alone in the black road,
The line to his fire-red barn
Wherein you have destined yourself to sleep!
Who else will love you like him?
Who else will teach you what to do?
You would be nobody's princess,
Only a friend in misery watching and waiting
As the shirts and dresses and skirts
Are given from him to someone else,
Flesh or not,
Incorporeal or not.
The big sorrow, the big sorrow
As the one second-in-command
To everyone and everything.
You are no Helen of Troy,
No great beauty
To light another king
And his daughters of fire.
You are nothing
But a carcass in the black road,
And there will ALWAYS be another.
