for Achilles Rizzoli, "architectural transcriber to God"
I. KATHEDRAL (MOTHER SYMBOLICALLY RECAPTURED)
Space is cold, alkaline and cruelly lamped.
It's my favorite place in the world.
Elevator cars there bring such folk, even
Romans without leg or breathing apparatus.
Do not wail nor go blue in the face
for a black sedan, but for that hearty
mom it carry. For mom alone is final-
her inventory, alone, forever here.
No gasket, in lieu of calipers, no can. Do as ever,
knickerlegged pantwearing boy. I'm hazard,
your first nascent memory this: the astute plume
of a legionnaire files a star to your brow.
None can claim such legacied phylum, sweet, but a few
have always been claimed by it. Not to blame.
For the nightstand's invention or the bottles it portends,
nightly, or the dusk itself. Our teeth soak of their own
accord. Damn them to a place of learning solid chatter.
Where fluency is the chart of an architect
eyeballing space, and that chart, a poet's diplom'.
So wrest the doe of toll from me.
A lot is sad, but the habitat's a fine place to be.
We'll intuit a city-intimate ray-you, me
and the other ones. It's my only sovereign belief.
We may or may not, by
tranquility and science,
furnish a room with romance-
a genre of terminal illness.
And not being as if in the world.
One elegant scrap of canon-smoke doesnÕt lack motive
at our behest. They say it. Even a schoolmaster
owns a few yards of blond lace.
"Pauline, Pauline... Yes Paul, Paul, Paul?"
A mother, prodigal in sympathy, darns my linens
in spite of me, thatÕs all.
Some titled ladies live on Earth; I live on Earth-
I may or may not be a titled lady. All titled ladies live on Earth-
I may or may not. All living on Earth are titled ladies;
IÕm a titled lady-I may or may not live on Earth.
I may or may not live on Earth.