.....

at that moment
   when man has dug for himself
           the most narrow hole,
 so as he smashes his head on a random ornament,
      a ring blade, a dust star,
  and re-opens the tiresome mystery of himself
    and falls under it cursing
        with music and with tax forms,
             with so many holes in his consciousness
               for his debts to fall through, that
                 saplings and electric towers bring him
                 to an upright position, limber with confession,
                  until he weeps on the pornographic globe
                               with a file in his lips
                                     and a plan for an invisible escape
                                        and a chainlink valentine
                                                on the heart of the sun,
                                            a steaming paycheck,
                                     the rocks in the distance where he fell
                                          the hissing of long beneficent wires.