Where this began was far from here An air-vent flutter from a secretary's skirt caught in an executive's eyelashes A phantom synco-beat memo-thrown from a marathon strategy cluster into a King's hands This low wind on paper drawing the monarch's eye down Chunnel Lane This makes him see, "Brightness lies away from me. I am old enough to need it close. I am great enough that all may feel this void below their lowest bones." A seeped covetousness created thus Officially proclaimed officious Stone was pearled in these men's hearts One spits the scree far flying wide random Another pockets his bitter offal We are the men We are the ranks we are the rankmen casting this stone to metal We fling the King's sharp jealousy from our lieutenant's hand While he tends the fossil boardroom hearts
E-mail Jennifer Boudreaux at: jennmaine@prodigy.net
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