Parading

The clock ticks,

My double, my Siamese heart, my whiskery

The ancient gods changed men to things, but left them

Always I see myself waving to myself,

How beautiful they are, those shapes

And the chandelier strides like a sixteen-pointer

Cool, cool minutes. No one

Do you have a match you can light

The real truth about it is my kind of life’s no better off

I’d like to lie in the cool grass