Up in the quiet municipal chamber
over the burlesque of the Palio - just
a paint-smear, where the mappamundo
disappeared (gray-blue, jasper

radius). And the magnetic knight
bedecked in yellow-black, astride his
massive steed, over an empty space.
Meek shall inherit mournful moonlight.

They go out weeping to the fields...
and hardship children to the prisons.
Meanwhile, Vienna's life-size figurines
above Town Hall emerge (on wheels)

from their great cuckoo-clock (the king,
the queen). And someone must ransom
Richard Lionheart again. That noble bum
hobo'd it to the Holy Land, a-signifying

furiously (nothing serious). Foggy bottom-
land, swamp delta spring, plump Danube
Willendorf for gypsy caravans (rubes,
minnesquitos). In the rotundum,

a gauzy cosmograph, a veil (with tears)
where once a year one designated hand
pulls back the curtain... scents the land
with winter petals, acorns, empty choirs.

Broken lilac. In a trance, they guide
that sleepy limb toward its elaborate
ground zero (prime rib, immaculate).
Swamplight irradiates the jewel-weed.

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