The Piecemeal Man (abmann) wrote,
The Piecemeal Man
abmann

  • Mood:

Golden Ass

I am trapped by heat.
I no longer have control over the world,
my powers stripped in my own disbelief.
The world is no longer enamored with me,
instead retreating into a party
I did not condone. Because I didn't
my invitation is plastered to a donkey
running quickly away. I could catch it
if it would mean anything
to stop a donkey.

In not knowing,
there is an acquaintance the donkey
and I share that can only be known
by men and women in a bath house
just off the roadway. It is surrounded
by dandelions, golden and harsh
in the afternoon light. The donkey
stops to graze even as I sidle up
and knock on the door. He is bathed
in the reflected gold, stolen stature
even I cannot remove.

You cannot get in without a note.
Invitations, felicitous in their youth,
hold the power to topple mountains.
With it, the responsibility
of olympus - all of it held away from me
on the ass of a golden ass.
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