Thirst, and: American Landscape With Unemployed

66 the minnesota review Peter Oresick Thirst At the mall I think of Plato who said the body is a cracked vase. No pleasure can fill it. I'd like a job here watching the monitors, to see the faces racked with desire. How deep we must be: images dropping into us, disappearing, no sound of hitting bottom. oresick 67 Peter Oresick American Landscape With Unemployed What we feel has to do with the air so sweet that it is sickening. Has to do with the air so clear that it is sickening. We march arm in arm so clear in the street of lilies. We march arm in arm, each wearing a sober hat in the street of lilies, each singing, "No jobs! No jobs!" Each wearing a sober hat, even the radical priests, each singing, "No jobs! No jobs!" Each casting a shadow, even the radical priests who celebrate us, and sing us, each casting a shadow the color of burnt earth. Who celebrate us, and sing us, as we lean and loaf, the color of burnt earth. We loaf and invite our souls. We lean and loaf on the summer grass. We loaf and invite our souls— born here on the summer grass— hoping them not to cease. 68 the minnesota review Born here, we watch the flames open, hoping them not to cease, and we hurry along the street. We watch the flames open all the windows and we hurry along the street, our shadows sticking. All the windows of where we worked, burning, our shadows sticking to the burnt earth of where we worked, burning. Such shadows, Van Gogh said, must be daubed on with a knife. The color of burnt earth has to do with the air. What we feel, unemployed, what we feel. ...