There are old thoughts in your head, my reader, and let them die

Kissing the bankteller outside his stairs

In Brighton, MA I cannot lie. I felt the hope

That we once felt, if only for an instant

O the lovely bankteller, like a moose he

Rode my spirit quite outside my clothes

And chrysanthemums sprouted I assure you

Out my nipples when he kissed them.

And the pureness of not knowing him at all

Was really what we all feel when we enter this earth.

There is a newness to the best things that cannot

Be excelled and old things like old love die and rot.

There are old ideas in the world that should be forgotten

There are old ideas and old phrases that should at least

Be recycled for others

There are old plans now that should be new.

There are old thoughts in your head, my reader, and let them die.

Follow me, I am the crusader of the new

My spirit is a plastic rod that channels all our births.

And in the mouths of the little beasts, we shall find the great

Ocean that spits up black bugs all glittering on its shores.

You know there is an anthem to the ages.

There is an anthem of the ages.

This is that anthem

This is that anthem

Dorothea Lasky, "On Old Ideas"