One Very Old Man With a Gun

A human shape, content to remain abstract.
Mantilla and petticoats, the culpable convention
a three-masted sailing ship tattooed on the horizon.

Involuntary manifestations of spirit--
grass, the snaky flower, manuscripts of her dress,
the bright symmetry of their legs.
A deep obeisance,
conscious cigars of white chalk contraband.

That is to say,
millions might be found reckoning on a million molehills.
Poets, feasting at their revels--
this tedious cupboard is one molehill.

The pavements were bright like stalks of corn,
hungry pavements,
no trace of unscrupulous eccentricity
catching at the end pale shadow.

Lists stop, it is
is finished,
the total sum.

Leviathans are repugnant.
Propagation is over--this is the consummation,
the triumph of age,
the massive conglomeration of splendid objects.