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I’m in the game you’re losing,
And by winning—such are the rules of the game—
I (winning because I’m sensitive) feel the pain of your losing,
And you, loser, are angry and full of blame;
Your anger is why you’re losing; thankfully I’m not the same;
I’m winning because you’re losing—another rule of the game.
We have an alchemy, we affect each other, we are interested
In each other, and will be until we are dead.
Love and wisdom is measured by how materially
You feel and stretch your influence and interact with all.
I do this with my soul and poetry;
I don’t need to pick you up in a car, or call.
There is always your country and your body
And loyalty to these is strong and beautiful,
But the world—your soul—has another place to go;
It might be Athens, the academy, Socrates or Plato,
A place we seek to better ourselves; the United States
Is the present day Athens, the place where the world seeks its soul,
And the world is one—the ether of the world moves as a whole.
Loser, you live in my world, and all the poets reading what we do,
Hear the sighs I make while I’m writing, but I’m not writing anything to you.
I don’t need to do anything to know what you are doing;
As you know, the winning like to know,
But there is a game and everything you are doing
Is in the game everyone is in. So I know.
Isn’t it funny how the tiniest clue
Can tell you everything about a person who is hiding everything from you
Because they know they are losing? And you
Win, because you are doing something so obvious, no one notices what you do?
