ARCHAIC TORSO GOES TO THE BEACH

Where a heart swims is spacious.
Many beaches hang inexplicable.
Waves travel thousands of miles,
one at a time. Vacation spot.

Applause.
Applause without end.
Human beings wash away as they work.
This is only sad, because they love

to survive.
Red silt dallies
in heart channels. Black loam
evacuates the bowels and kidneys.

To the bowels and kidneys,
the lungs remain a sky.
On the far hands, where work is done,
sand shifts.

Cities,
roads,
automobiles,
and other kinds of emptiness.

Don't know where this poem came from. An early version of it was called "Clay" and was about building a person a grain at a time. Later, a revision of it was called "Modern Torso," trying to refer to Rilke's poem, "Archaic Torso of Apollo," but not quite making it. Now it's what it is.