Lovely locks of golden light float across
Urban horizons steaming furiously
Toward western success. I’m sure my boss
Tailor-suited to his business, anxiously
Taps his foot. I hear only your song gloss
Over my tight-gripped automobile, piously
Placating delirious disciples of cross-
Traffic as they fit into slots and lane,
Then part your lips gently more sneer
Than smile. Head tossed back searches the mundane
For what you know cannot exist, angel,
Among the teeming masses who profane
Your luxuriousness with their cheap chattel
I arise goddess to fight your battle.
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