I can't really abstract a perfect illustration for my comments of yesterday. It's a poem or caterwaul that goes in a lot of directions. (Remember the photos Jonathan posted of Vallejo/Lincoln?) Here's something from near the end of July:


Deep drone of train or iron cicada
across an infinite prairie steppe or
taiga and where do the past
and future of these parallels ascend?

Accompanied by mute organ-pipes
in Voronezh or an anti-telephone
in Moscow (making superluminescent
waves) or just my new triangle on the barn

banging and banging like an old tin can?
The rapture of the universe is on
the radio tonight everybody knows
it (even the D.A.R., Grandma) it’s Marion

singing there in Washington
under the Depression and the shadowy
long hands long face still washed
with kindness twinkling like a star

his homely lonesomeness
is in her voice also tonight a silky
charity-chariot with malice toward
none we’ll ride it home Bluejay forget

the bondage of the 44 rail-split and
quartered in a milky map
rivers and forests in your palm
life-lines and spirit-trails

deep into tracklessness a limber
timbered everlasting habitat
we’ll make it home to bathe
again in that spring water Abraham

as the drone rises to the tops of the oaks
in an arc of praises love and liberty
are married there a tribal tree of
tribulations crowned a little school of J


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