unfinished undone

In the Temple Dome the undersized men
each faintly glitter and grasp
for an eye's accidental brush,
Just one glance
to tell a soul, or maybe two.
What's the point, you mutter
with a twist of bitter lemon--
Where are you taking us?

Twist your head from side to side
and witness what we try to hide,
A glistening landscape of weary men
Undersized men, trudging toward the
Dream of America.
Dream a thousand dreams, America,
A dream for every heartbeat, a soul
In every worm writhing on the pavement.
Stomping feet to warm the toes,
Frozen lives bleed frozen goals
thrust upon suburban trolls--
The groundskeeper is on vacation.

A message for the masses: I
am the masses,
Living in my icecream cone
Chocolate lining and sprinkled flair,
Hollow and full of melting declarations,
speeches and provocations--
The throng a patch of foam upon the sea.

And in the Temple rests the limping priest,
His cane a bone of reliability,
His spitting lisp, a touch of polio as a boy
left him born again--
a servant of American dream.