Action,
And at action,
One individual sees that
All there IS is action,
It is the constant drapery of his background,
And in everyday life
He sees that tadpoles aspire to be eels,
Hell breaking on the fluorescent lights
Until they are his mess he has to clean up
In his blue uniform straddling the broom-
Stick and riding up the wall to suspend
Self in stillness becoming a fallen
Warlord Indian Apache who only preached peace,
Wore tan and orange and saw the sun’s day engorge
With that fluorescent screen that knows only action,
And a race stricken with it.