men's mimicry of everyday purpose was not my own:
That exhortation gave no place to the seemingly casual.
The phallic graffiti and presences and signs of sleep asexual
Or a surprising dream of the wind as a child, alone.
The camouflage of the tiger in tall grass, sunburnt,
Reassuring and stultifying normalities of a deep
And stainless steel dimly showing the god of Use (as usual),
Circulated in the heart, outsize, grand rushes of maroon.
The Queen of Queensland or of Barbadoss or spicy
Beguiled each dewy listener to a trinity, staying here;
The rumour and hearsay spoke of facts, not
satellites of a deodar,
The Himalayan cedar void of fear, therefore without, sincere.
Then was that really it? Without a course, without a star,
Moving under skies, careless Alice no one could steer?