A poem

I'm going through old papers and found a poem I had written many years. I don't know when I wrote it, but since I had used a typewriter, it would either have been in high school or college. In any case, here's my one and only attempt at poetry:

Tilling the Soil

The beast is in the yoke
And I at the harness
For together through muddy fields

of hope and ideas

We Plow

Through the hypocrisy

the stone strewned bureaucracy 

We toil
Turning over old phrases

To reveal implicit mazes

Which dissipate through the

Top soil

Man and beast we work

Scratching the earth

Preparing for next season's harvest

But wait

The beast wheezes and sneezes and

Oh Jesus

Freezes my glands as

Hairy thorns sprout

And tales of Germans flow out

Amidst this beastly transformation

So with a whirling and chirling

And new-born talons churning

The beats-monster is free from my service

To debauch my dreams

With random desire and

Frenzied malice deep in mire