It is this

It is this nagging feeling
where something might be starving
but it's blown into submission
startled by headless torsos
half-submerged in tangerine
water. It's always something
making the pits drip tar
a length of rope for instance
is tied to an oar
that's really artistic but
the function of aluminum boats
is to instill the capital
within a framework of labor
getting us from here to there
adhering only to the sullen
achievers stumbling on their
way to work--bones into dust
for what? The lemon on a stick
from the budget of a frog
to the tune of now you owe us?
That's not what we signed up
for in the heat of the milk
the forest was surely greener
than the representation
promised a card with a safety
patch and merit was rewarded
with a shivering whisper
lonesome for nothing
but lonesome before
that silly word left a hole
where you were.