Agent's Lunch
She just sits there ironically pleased
to be paid to dine, a glass of wine if she wants,
fulfilled, check-listed and past,
while steps wisely the urban consultant.
Woe to the wind and the cosmic wheel withal,
I, that which is, the very it itself proclaiming,
ride charging in spite of and because of my history
becaused by each and everyone.
Ever free (not the molecule but the will), intelligence,
memory and perception create self in community.
Still, quietly, the surface, self-fascinated, attempts
hungrily to begin to embrace the unameable.
Mankind, the vector sum of all its influences,
my little bit too, how long wilt thy writhe and die?
Jim Strope
after reading Virginia Wolfe