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. . .        .                         . . . .. . . . . . .  Stalker

There is indeed a stalker in my dream
     He waits among the broccoli sprouts
     Waiting for me to pass as an ant today
     Today I shall be the smallest ant in the field
     I shall carry the pieces of leaves toward
     I shall ride in your collar and wonder at your
     I shall wonder at the cashier, the driver, the toll
     gate worker, so many strangers
     You'd think I'd have seen them all by now
     So many like me
     Engineer with prints, artist with canvas, musician with violin of very
     old wood,
     So many to the slaughter, so many like me
     Walt's wagons is now the semi-trailer driver
     The same staunch strength, he has not changed
     So many like me
     The press operator stamps parts with earplugs in place
     His grandfather the blacksmith is in his hands, in his feet
     They are the same among so many
     This farmer's son has wide feet for the plowed earth,
     Sits in his cubicle without the need for wide feet
     Writes poems he does, this ant in your collar
     Shreds leaves
     Builds pyramids

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