No One is Working

In conversation with my imagination
she said I have unresolved anger
and deception in my heart of triumphs
like a cool dolce vita wind, pasteurizing
the plates on cadence and forestry
can-do, alone with the might of
sacred tossed men with candles of
indebted pages and measured steel rods
for limbs of climbing stolen promises,
like a stopgap fool with the intuition
of giants, and cordial placated censures