Ayn Rand Poem by Arsene Hodali

how horrible it feels to shell out
a moving life
time
creating ceiling light

(screwing a lightbulb is
a two part problem
play of
inspection and sadomasochism)

and to then find out
they
still
only want fire

tango
paso doble

hard wood floor dancing
ephemeral entertainment
that consumes itself

something they can clap
and cheer for

(ask anything of men
but don’t
ask them to look up)

'the clapper marks the height
of civilization'