The trees leaning into one another, green and horrible,
The sun setting at the end of the street,
The birds' voices of despair and lust,
Even a fool could tell you what this is all about,
How one person sits in his car and waits
And the air thickens and browns-- pollen and dust.
The world is sick of itself, sitting in its car
Watching all of this. All I do any more
In my poems is show off, now that I've started
Acting like someone hot and recognizable,
Selling big diamonds to the flattered Earth,
And I don't know who's talking-- am I talking?--
Can it be me?-- fat, ugly-hearted,
Saying, What am I saying, what am I worth?
The birds' voices of despair and lust,
Even a fool could tell you what this is all about,
How one person sits in his car and waits
And the air thickens and browns-- pollen and dust.
The world is sick of itself, sitting in its car
Watching all of this. All I do any more
In my poems is show off, now that I've started
Acting like someone hot and recognizable,
Selling big diamonds to the flattered Earth,
And I don't know who's talking-- am I talking?--
Can it be me?-- fat, ugly-hearted,
Saying, What am I saying, what am I worth?
-from Ploughshares: Winter 10/11
