I Am to My Own Heart Merely a Serf
I am to my own heart merely a serf
And follow humbly as it glides with autos
And come attentive when it is too sick,
In the bad cold of sorrow much too weak,
To drink some coffee, light a cigarette
And think of summer beaches, blue and gay.
I climb the sides of buildings just to get
Merely a gob of gum, all that is left
Of its infatuation of last year.
Being a servant of incredible assumption,
Being to my own heart merely a servant.
I have been sick of its cruel rule, as sick
As one is sick of chewing gum all day;
Only inside of sleep did all my anger
Spend itself, restore me to my role,
Comfort me, bring me to the morning
Willing and smiling, ready to be of service,
To box its shadows, lead its brutish dogs,
Knowing its vanity the vanity of waves.
But when sleep too is crowded, when sleep too
Is full of chores impossible and heavy,
The looking for white doors whose numbers are
Different an equal, that is, infinite,
The carriage of my father on my back,
Last summer, 1910, and my own people.
The government of love’s great polity,
The choice of taxes, the production,
Of clocks, of lights, and horses, the location
Of monuments, of hotels, and of rhyme,
Then, then, in final anger, I wake up!
Merely wake up once more,
once more to resume
The unfed hope, the unfed animal,
Being the servant of incredible assumption,
Being to my own heart merely a serf.