3397. STEEL GIRDERS

STEEL GIRDERS

I have been trounced by steel girders; there are

steel girders in my mind, squeezing my loins,

they run through my eyes and they have now,

already, broken both my hands. I am trussed

on steel girders, onto which have been stenciled,

(by someone), 'logic,' 'rationality,' 'presumption,'

'good sense,' and hundreds more. These are

small, little words somehow extending out past

the girders' ends as they, in turn, go on to

describe concepts, very large concepts, broad,

and vastly bigger than themselves.

-

Today I passed a Lotus dealer once again.

Out front, and inside, piles of expensive cars -

Ferrari, Porsche Carrera, a vintage '56 Lincoln,

numerous new Lotus cars, and a few old

sports cars as well, all in perfect shape. It

seemed the only people walking around there

were wealthy folk : especially some older,

capsized hippie type leftover from '71, in

perfect 'worn' jeans, a nice pair of boots and

a weatheredly haggard hippie face anyone

of that era could be proud to have. Yet now

he shopped for expensive cars, and what's

that tell you, you tell me. We agree?

-

I have steel girders pinching all my nerves,

extending out my crotch, piercing my innards

with pain, and bursting my spleen. I don't even

know what that is, actually. Baudelaire? or Verlaine?