After Roethke

The vulgar ones will grind, and gnaw the bone,

our semipublic faces caked with joy.

The pure admire the pure, and live alone.

If we could find a bias of our own,

then we, the altar- and the mama’s boy—

the vulgar ones—will grind and gnaw the bone.

Is there affliction in a stifled moan?

We hear what we would like to hear. Enjoy.

The pure admire the pure, and live alone.

The star above is just another drone;

we scarcely see the light we can’t destroy:

the vulgar ones will grind, and gnaw the bone,

and come to find that everyone’s unknown.

This undertaking marks a mythic ploy.

The pure admire the pure. And live, alone.

With luck, the withered face will turn to stone.

A countenance is vicious. And is coy.

The vulgar ones will grind, and gnaw the bone;

the pure admire the pure, and live alone.