Ridiculous angels rest their heads
Upon a pinstripe cotton bed
Abandoned sentiments they seek
From kempt leviathans smooth and sleek
Embracing every actor's wish
Of dancing with the Platonist.
I laughed among the theatre gods
As fire rained down in straining rods
Pretending not to notice shame
Or spoil the votive of the game.
I heard a song; I saw the singer
He asked how long my thoughts had been there.
Scathingly he mocked my face
And sneered about my sense of grace;
My vanity, the axe I ground
The weedy mouse soprano sound
That slipped my lips in desperate plea
To rise above the symphony.
Why struggle on, the singer cried
The undertaker's here, you died.
I stumbled on the fractured stone
The brick that's loose, the house o'ergrown,
But somewhere in the garden grows
An ancient, lustrous, antick rose
Uneasy sleep amongst the weeds
Where the path I follow ever leads
While silently, above my face
I watch the angels dance on space.
