Mandatory Compulsion
Mandatory Compulsion
The sharper the shaper the starker the stalker. As though some
Genius loci or all-seeing eye had suddenly got hold of me.
The eye was like a hurricane’s, or the yoke of an egg.
Like a blind man in a clock shop you can hear the ticking
But you can’t see the hands. You have no slide rule with which
To perform the altercations. But I’m as much me as I can be.
If it’s less you than you can be don’t blame the admiralty.
The loyalty and usefulness of dogs, the beauty and grace
Of cats. There are two ways to destroy this debacle. Or rather to
Enjoy this tabernacle. The Pied Piper walking along the streets
Of Manhattan, humming a show tune, another “boffo number.”
Or washing your hands a hundred times a day, and how it’s like
Praying. Or how praying isn’t so different from OCD, however
Sincerely it’s meant to be. I should know. But the Lord knows
Best. Sad or glad, one size would fit all if we didn’t need an
Infinite redress. The line of vision is always being interrupted
By the nosegay of desire. I can see for miles and miles. Where’s
The fun in that, old man, in the interest of pulling your
Chain? The single, solitary dog who had the guts to bark at him
As the troops retreated. Meanwhile her ex-husband is survived by
His second wife, much to the discomfiture of her paramour
Or imprimatur. The bells and whistles would feel much better,
If only one could play them without the “tits and feathers.”
A profound unmitigated loneliness is the only truth of life.
