Where does Eliot mention a toilet?
    Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains
    We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
Where does Eliot mention an evacuation?
    Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys
    To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
Where is a flush cycle described from beginning to end?
    The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
    The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
    Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
    Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
    Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
    Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
    And seeing that it was a soft October night,
    Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
Where does Eliot open the window?
    For the yellow smoke that slides along the street
Where are Eliot’s sleeves rolled up and his pants missing?
    My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
    My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
    (They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”)
Where does Eliot change the toilet paper?
    And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
    When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Find "rip/wind/wipe" in three consecutive lines.
    To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
    To have squeezed the universe into a ball
    To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
Where is Eliot, asleep on the toilet, dreaming in black & white? Color?
    I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
    Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
    When the wind blows the water white and black.

    We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
    By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
    Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
How many times is the word “trousers” used? “Floor”? “Overwhelming”? “Crisis”?
    I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
    I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.

    Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
    Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
    After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—

    To lead you to an overwhelming question….
    To roll it toward some overwhelming question,

    Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
© 2020 by Frank P. Langley III