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I am a soft man, so they say.
Night drives fear up too easily.
Unable to give without thought, kneeling
lax and flaccid at the foot of a god
in whom I no longer believe.
Too soft a man. This morning,
this arrived, postage-due:

Greetings, =first= =middle= =last=
We are hereby proud to announce
both the power you see
and the power you do not see
are ours;
and your job, life, heart
belong to us,
if you care or not.
Next time you are followed
by tiny brownsuit men
with cases and ‘staches;
while smoke comes a-sifting under the
bedroom door.
the voices and footsteps upstairs
when you turn off TV;
you know
No need to reply
with heaven forbid poetry.
Do you want to know you?
Ask us.
We creep in and hear what
you say asleep.
We read your sentiments

—The management.

Tip tap tiptip tap tip tap
amazed how tears make
perfect taps on the paper.
Steady and regular,
perfect, like a
wind-up metronome.