A little boy sees
A jet in the sky
Through a tall classroom
Window, and thinks
About the end of the world.
The noise he can hear
On this tedious morning
Links up to the fear
Of a nuclear bomber.
He waits for the siren
The four minute warning…
Lashed to the mast
Odysseus heard
What none who can move
May hear and live.
Impelled to the doom
By phantoms unreal
Sterile and void.
Folly of lust
So misunderstood
The impulse to yield
To impossible foes.
Illusions persist
In sickness unwilled
Give all to false hope
And die unfulfilled.
You have the appeal of white snow
Of a rearing albino horse
To inspire a desire like the black letter O
To yield to a beckoning force.
I see you before me and know
That an angel of death and divorce
Has designed and refined as to where you should go
To tear me away from my course.
