They loiter in every fish market in the world-
Some nap on a breeze above neon signs,
Others on the giant palm trees by the shore;
Some sit on the jagged tips of the moors,
Or on the walkways to the selling carts,
Chased by waddling and laughing children,
Arms extended, fingers fanning the air...

We share the smell of crab and tiger shrimp,
Where fish are stacked head to head, eye to eye,
By the hundreds as rainbow colored corpses
In crates, on nets, like ice packed ears of corn;  
Each wears the same stunned expression,  
At that instant they were suddenly torn  
To end up here in a final transgression
To sustain us and these birds another day.  

How the gulls cruise about our trays of jewels
And perform their chants of common chorus
Known to each human ear, the song of the wild ocean!

They watch our silent parades on the pavements
And sing in languages with different accents
Known only to them; yet we listen
As they hover close to us with wide wings,
Like outcasts from the seas, homeless immigrants,
Who have chosen to live among our fish stalls,
Begging for a handout or a scrap of shell,
To remind us of the of mariners we once were,
Rejoicing in their song, guiding us to the good land.

Trade me for a magic carpet in an ancient tale;
I can be bartered for the lost scrolls of Petronius;
I am worth at least as much as a chunk of comet
That was discovered in the desert;
You can borrow great sums against my library,
Go buy an island and fill it with bonobos
         Who have found the secret of living without prayer;
My fortune allows me to dwell in a vast kingdom
And in my castle is a desk of ocean wood and pearls;  
I own giraffes and peacocks in my gardens
With rouge and scarlet maple trees;
Under them I play arpeggios on my guitar;
I can afford to give a check to saudade
             And not even feel it;
I have holdings in several galaxies
In the exploding cosmos;
I have a full sack of love that I can scatter
Like the apple seeds or the dandelion feathers;
I have my own plane which I call my wings;
I have been called the world’s most valuable player
Every time I score a goal;
I am the hope of all the utopian anarchy
And give my poems away for free;
I store my compassion in maturing cases of wine
From the most expensive of vineyards;  
I cannot even count what sums the brick-a-brac
On my shelves might bring at auction...

But as to my net worth;
Well after you deduct the taxes, debts, and hidden fees,
Brother, can you spare a dream?

We are numb in our tenements, the thick soot
Of prophesy makes a witch-hunt of the heart,
Shell-shocked by absurdity, while a Caligula tweets
That the empire is fully restored in his name;
We have only learned the sorrow of repentance.

The children of No Kingdom are seduced,
Their spirits hang in the citadel of limbo;  
The elders are shattered by the state of siege,
As the edicts to the whispering fear
Make hysterical headlines of the idiotic.

Mobs praise the counterfeit messiah;
I pass these days in a monotone of tomorrows
Watching their parade to No Kingdom;
The angry kin of weary conquerors,
The worshipers of necromantic America.

Town bells of freedom rust in their towers,
To Bezer will swarm the great nation;
Pitiless slays the pitiful, the whole country
"A smoking, stinking garbage dump-
The fires burning day and night..."*

The eyes of my soul behold the native soil-
How they now cry with foul tears.
Exiled are the children of sad immigrants
From the gardens in the promised land,
Obese hatred scorns the starving refugees.

Citizen, our tribe is from the genesis of slaves,
Blood brothers from famine and persecution;
It is not enough to build a pillared temple    
Just to hide in a sewer of dampness and worms-
Are we but the scavengers who remain?

How the spirits of the lofty statues  
Are now homeless on jagged pavements;
The daily lies spread as the vultures feast!
What vengeance claims the coming age of man?
What vain electric offering to our empty land?

To those who **** with words and hateful ways,
In drunkenness they scuff the word of their god.
See them hoist their fascist salutes as the mongrel
Tweets from his rotten bowels to No Kingdom;
While burns our lineage to a poverty of ruins

I have not learned how to sit still,
**** it, I never will.  Nor have I learned
How not to wave my arms when I speak;
By now I should know some words
For the mourners’ congregation by the gravestone;
Not me.

I hate drum-rolls and ******* guitar licks
That blasts in the frozen food section.  
I cannot just ignore Spider-man movies,
I’d rather descend to the ninth rung of hell.
Hogs eat corn, "Je n’aime pas le popcorn",
Hippo gluttony in fields of river plants
Chomp, chomp, chomp...

Teenagers chewing gum, taking selfies-
Where is the love, where is the love?
I can’t talk to Siri without cursing.
Who cares who wins the football game?
Could I see a beautiful woman
And not undress her in my mind?

Sorry, it’s the meds.  What have I learned
But "blessed be patience"
Which I interpret as
The world is too busy with its traffic of red ants-
Stand aloof, keeping out of their path.
  
I go to join the cult of crazies in the park,
Muttering metaphors to keep us off the drink,
Winding our watches, feeding birds,
Headphones blasting requiems of Pergolesi,
As the young ones keep their distance.

How shall I worship womanhood now?
Shall I imagine the youthful face in 40 years
To add wisdom in the creases by the lips
That reflects a redder tone of gloss?

Shall I lower my eyes like a spanked dog
To avoid a stare at the bare cleavage
With its ruby resting in the crevasse by the heart,
While the ****** shows its shape through the silk?

Shall I attempt to not smell the fine perfumes
As did the oils found in an ancient tomb
Once adorn a woman with sweet fragrance,
Or the minted breath and powdered cheek?

Since the invention of the white shirt      
My uniform has just a tie to express my day-
But each woman on this street has her flair,
Her hairdo, purse, ensemble to high heels,

Painted nails, wrists with bejeweled charms,
The daily shift of feathered hats;
How shall I worship womanhood now?
Long ago I chose one and she chose me,

And she still gets her eyelashes done.
I meekly notice the women around me
Like a tourist in an exquisite palace garden
Unable to confide my praise unto the statues.