[untitled]

The classroom reeks of undergraduates.
The walls lethargic beige, the chattering,
resentful, handsome faces, golden thighs.
A grimy fog of answers, questions lost,
and every year they miss the point again.
The concrete park outside is filled with bursts
of advertising, merchandise that blares
with stenciled letters, mascots, girls’ glazed smiles.

The struggle ended years ago.  But still
we make our motions, fake a gray concern,
while knowing that the center and the heart
of it is dead these many years.  We fall,
a slow descent from sense to sense, the loss
of all our lovely castles, and the air.

[Los Angeles, 5/9-22/90]