I'd give a Benz to have a pocketful of it,
That quieter mind, the circumambulation
In a large garden patch walled in by stones.
My rage would be falling to the ground
Scattered under work boots of the builders.
Read-up the literature of offices -- all mankind unite
In carrels and modules, cubicles and desk rows
Meeting up on the treadmills doing cardio
Seizing at the prime architecture of self
And a lunch of pork bun and orange soda.
I know too much about the proliferation
At my disposal -- scat music for the ears,
Digital van Gogh, ululations of a world.
My mirror is democratic;
It talks back in terms I understand.
They won't put me away. I'm too valuable
As an example of the 60 percent man:
Forty of him you don't want to be.
They'll mint me a place with clean drywall
And a view of the pool and ample TV.
The sphere of my acquaintanceships
Will hand out tickets to game shows.
Women with permanents swizzling mai tai
A madcap clip of us grin on the local news
Calling a bingo count, never in imbalance.