8.21.2017

eclipse for equal lips



LOWLY COIN

Twilight at mid-day, then rain
after the eclipse.  Little
Sophie’s 4th.  A medal
made of bronze; a lowly coin

of copper green.  Absinthe air
around the monuments.
The sickly shade of dense
black sun... Monday’s gone Friday

everywhere.  Whisper it back
to me, slowly, slowly.
Parallax of late Dante,
his painful feet beneath a wrack

of Roman marble, winking tesserae...
only a rain in Voronezh.
Profile of a Chaadev pledge
to 4th estate – soul freedom, aye.

Vladimir – that other one, with
the unpronounceable name –
wanders Wyoming
(motels, mountains).  His Monarch myth,

his Morpho blues, his regal soul
from coal-speck diamond –
a parabolic almond
subtext (Rorschach mirror-bowl).

Lincoln-ghost, Vallejo cheekbones...
chaste sign of equal lips.
Sophie’s green foot trips
through her basilica’s midnight sunstones.

8.21.17

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