Lost Man

LOST MAN

He went inside, maybe to clerking,
Or accounting, and lost himself in slippers
And nibs, in seconds, the clocked meal
Times, and his moment was lost, his time.

He went to the office, that soft opted
Occupation, as if to keep his hands clean
Of the dirty world, and not only lost himself
A man, he lost direction, his spirit potency.

A search was led by Major Hemingway
Big and game up wild gulllies and razorback
Ridge in the uniform beige of jungle gear
Portraying its every proof expedition manly

As he retreated to the bottle, one he'd lost
Or the snuff and laudanum of pretend divinities
With artifice of prophetic mantles to be a seer
Burnt with the self needling of his bought office.

Anti-lost men appeared like the Lawrences
D.H and T.E. both of whom went to the wild
For primitive vitality, its Acchilian limelight fame
And disappeared in the deserts of their unmaking

Women decided men, lost men were to blame
And so joined them lost, losing gift of parturition
In officing herself as man, as if the bifurcated soul
Of the carrot was not yellow in fork-tongued retreat.

* * *
Only the man of earth, poor man, salt or peasant
Went to the sky and sea, to earthen furrows as always
To keep the wolf knocking, the lion roaring at very doors
Toward which lost man kept throwing away his keys.