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The Fortunate Pilgrim
The cathedrals are different
For each of us
But we can relate
And are not cruel
To those we see going
Towards places where ties
Hang like stained glass,
Or to the vaulted chambers
Shoveling and sweating away,
We’re all pilgrims, we all
Have a promised land,
Someplace beyond the destination
Only the ones who never move
Do we pity, do we hate,
Do we keep away with alms
Calm gladiators,
We walk in rings together,
Pass through the steel teeth
Of the subway gin,
And are harvested.
There are moments of relief,
We learn that everyone is going
Someplace else, otherwise
The building would sink
The office would be lost
And the desk might buckle,
We’d all have to work on the floor.
The idleness at night
Calls for a new penance,
To get up and ride the clock,
Become a body on a map,
On a path, along
A Metropolitan keyboard.
We go our separate places,
To different beds, yet share
Brief stations,
This is our agony,
This is our joy.
