The Tower

The immensity of this black monolith
Cauldron eye
Leviathan of corporate proclivities.
The cantons, mountains and
Sea shatters

Girdled china-white
Cinctures.
They are traceable here
The deathworks, the death-cloth

The knuckle of bone muscle
Of steel cages
A cageyness
Your mass of karakul.

Its vertiginous dimensions.
This is strange to say
But do you like my boneplasm?
It's taste, its tang
Do you blush? Is that why you
Retract your eyelids
And sit there among the ewes and kine
While I puzzle the woodcock's beak
And the ejaculations of sacred festivities?

O the ceremonies!
The Ishtar of bombsights
That staticky feeling of exploitation.
Some people live for that kind of
Debasement—
The kink of the boot on the neck—
The softness of cow's heft
Appeals to them.