Hail Dejection fair seed-time of the soul
Whence I reap in the time of exaltation
Hail the time of crushing burden
And I beneath the weight
Of a hundred thousand school buses
Stacked to the stratosphere
All dressed in yellow
Their little stop-signs extended
And though I’m flattened on the pavement
Like a squirrel recently electrocuted
Fallen into the midst of passing traffic
I see them all above me
From the outside like a saint in ecstasy
I see the dry-rotted tires
The seats with their tubular steel rims
The tiny fans above the drivers’ seats
The old-fashioned cranks for swinging the doors

I hear the sound of my own croaking laryngitis
Like a blown speaker in the back seat
Of an old clunker I can’t afford to replace
And I know that every word
Means that when and if my voice returns
It will return with ever less force
And I know that the corruption in my throat
Originated in my own impulsive disregard
For consequences
And yet I was driven to imitate
The pure voice of the child in the sky
Quixotic attempt
The upshot of which is decay and fall

Who has no regrets has no conscience
Said my father just before he died
And if his death was a peaceful one
As so it appeared to be
Then the physical pains overmastered
The regretful pangs
And death gave the blessèd release
That everybody hopes for

O Goddess who bows men low
Riddling singer who stultifies reason
Dejection sweet whose dwelling is dusk-time and rainy November
Who steals all salt leaving only the sour and the bitter
Dominatrix who gives man the aspect of the vine
When the harvest is done and the grape is crushed
And the blood of the grape is put away in darkness
Until such time as drinking it
Man is filled with divine madness and raves
And embers wink and grow cold

Hard by the highway a lone gas station stands
Out of business for many years
With signs that still display the prices
When gas was cheap and travel easy
Some of the plants growing in the pavement’s cracks
Change color with the change of seasons
Behind a jetty some miles away
A youth with a broken-off antenna
Draws naked pictures in the sand
Mood swings are a matter for endocrinology
Soon enough one tires of questioning
What force drives the particle
What force though dormant still drives