U ~ It would be easier to listen

The assembly doesn't listen
Instead it steals what I hang out to soak

In my wire bed
another farmer thinks of the thefts
of the canyon between the curved blades of his arms
which reap nothing
nails him to his tools

I hardly listen
more appreciate the fear
more envelope it in lines
more seal it in verse and call myself this
It's called getting fine wine from bitter grapes

I call it waiting for waiting
for there are objects I keep
which I must return to their owner
and I only wish I were one of them

There are matters I speak of
which must be resolved with the landlord
and I wish I were one of them

There are images of plenty
I associate with most of you at the table
and I aspire to be one of them

There are men who are listened to
who are owed to all men
who are loaned to gasping women
who are weapons in themselves
who are armour for others
and I'm afraid I may be one of them

Those objects I spoke of
will be returned in time