Heart and Gutter

What is man but heart and gutter? 

Reaching out to be run over. 

What is man but the calm face

of the cliffs looking out at the frenzied sea?

Scarred and mauled in his composure. 

What is man but the ruins of Rome? 

And the destitution and misery of Detroit? 

The damage done in the mad

dash out of nature. 

What is man but wild exclamation 

and meek, mild mannered adoration? 

The lonely cowboy baked in sun,

just as loose and corrupt as the night

that comes. 

(While poets wait for their true one.) 

What is man but denim jackets

and fine suit trousers, cigar packets? 

Smoking Saints of dubious exploits,

pacifists putting down weapons

to ask questions. 

What is man but humble father?

Cradling, holding precious life. 

Cheeks of rosy red; holding knives. 

But bloody butcher 

of the fractured fields of filth. 

What is man but heart and gutter?

Hope and fear and love and hatred.