Wistful

I thought of killing myself because I am only a bricklayer and you a woman who loves the man who runs a drug store. I don't care like I used to; I lay bricks straighter than I

I asked the professors who teach the meaning of life to tell me what is happiness. And I went to famous executives who boss the work of thousands of men.

I AM the people — the mob—the crowd—the mass. Do you know that all the great work of the world is done through me? I am the workingman, the inventor, the maker of the world's food and clothes.

I asked the mayor of Gary about the 12-hour day and the 7-day week. And the mayor of Gary answered more workmen steal time on the job in Gary than any other place in the United States. "Go into the plants and you will see men sitting…

Red drips from my chin where I have been eating. Not all the blood, nowhere near all, is wiped off my mouth. Clots of red mess my And the tiger, the buffalo, know how.

Your western heads here cast on money, You are the two that fade away together, Partners in the mist. Lunging buffalo shoulder

Desolate and lone All night long on the lake Where fog trails and mist creeps, The whistle of a boat Calls and cries unendingly, Like some lost child In tears and trouble Hunting the harbor's breast And the harbor's eyes.

I was a boy when I heard three red words a thousand Frenchmen died in the streets for: Liberty, Equality, Fraternity—I asked why men die for words.