these robot blues

programmed... educated...

raise your hand
pounds of corn
fractions of square acres of land
the grand battle of Concord
the cantos of Pound
the jargon of Kant
the hounding of want...

scared... ensnared...

the draining accumulations of conformity
or the tribulations of non-"norm"ity,
wealth or accomplishment
always seemingly dwarfed by others...
the secretary dreams of fortune
the executive of a lost lover,
the eskimo of a place in the sun,
the beloved wife of another

from asiatic rice-fields
spring soaring sky-scrapers
full of manic production
dreaming to equal America
in her golden "recession"
(and always dogs in the ring
fiercely fearless in their ambition
till eaten by the next one)

and reason? where is reason?
who knows?
In solid Walden houses,
I suppose,
out-waiting the season...
but we who've embraced
this or that siren,
we must bear it out
like jackals or lions

the proud, the ashamed,
the learned, the obtuse,
the many, the few:
who's immune from
these robot blues?