I want to be under a
Sienna sky - some burnt-umber
Monstrosity, devoid of clouds,
Still and still moving over the
Acrimonious skyline of
Molten orange windows and
Hot dry concrete. I want the
Silent sound of the subway under
My feet, the rattle and shake -
The bass drum beat. I want a
Hundred saggy women and lean men
Shaking their fists at soda cans
To walk by me. Someone I can
Help, someone I understand;

What a terribly needy creature
Is man! How can the planet
Withstand it, this desire for
Windows of fire and walls of burnt umber?
How can it not shatter for want
Of sienna skies?