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THE HOLLOW PRESIDENT
(after Eliot)
You are the hollow man
You are the stuffed man
Pumpkin head filled with straw. 
Alas!

    The wind whispers: 

           P-u-t-i-n . . . 		
		
Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
in death's dream kingdom!
Let me be no nearer!
Not that final meeting
in the twilight kingdom!

    The wind whispers: 

           P-u-t-i-n . . . 		
    . 
This is the dead land (no, not yet)
This is cactus land (no, not yet)
Here the stone images are raised 
(no, no) here they receive
the approbation of a tiny man's 
hand (no, nyet)
   
     The wind whispers: 

           P-u-t-i-n . . . 		
    
The eyes are not here
The sense is not here
The heart is not here
Empty man

There are no eyes here
in this valley of dying stars
in this hollow valley
this broken jaw of our lost kingdom

     The wind whispers: 

           P-u-t-i-n . . . 		
    
In this last of meeting places
you grope--for what? Not hope.

    The wind whispers: 

           P-u-t-i-n . . . 			
                      
Here we go round the politics tree
the politics tree, the politics tree
Here we go round the politics tree
at seven fifteen in the morning
    
    Between the idea
    and the reality
    Between the motion
    and the act
    fall the People
                                   
For Thine is NOT the Kingdom
    
    Between the emotion
    and the response
    Between the essence
    and the descent
    fall the People
                                   
For Thine is NOT the Kingdom
    
    This is the way the world ends
    This is the way the world ends
    This is the way the world ends

NO.

  Bill Yarrow