The automatic sequence of a life soon taken over
makes prisoners of us one and all : the orange
juice in the aisle of glass, the lady with two
hands, holding flowers. I am reading Sartre
while I sit here dwelling, and duping, thinking
myself to matter. If once it was said 'Man' is
the measure of all things, that was before
laser light and micrometers stepped in.
Here is the corner of Fashion Institute;
kids walking around gay and freely, girls
in their own designs - as if that was
something new and different. Young
men, both genteel and steely, thinking
they already matter, and now stretching
the lines of the martyrs they soon will be.