The boredom of the falling man

Or: Parched in Babylon

The immigrant man (freshly mint
from the old country, though
his is a poor metaphysical category)
clerks in the pitted bone
of a bottom bureaucracy
fit to serve the previous century:
little do his fellows know
he is a philosopher! Joyless
(they describe him as grim,
and grim are them birthing
tender forms of old monstrosities)
man of other men’s letters,
scorner of the sciences
which cobbled him together,
immigrant him says offhandedly
one day to himself, his collar stiff
as his posture: if each state
is as much preferable as the next—
and he races from the world
he despises through the windows
he never before looked out of—

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~ by Jeremy on June 11, 2013.

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