Roll on, Fonty...


That dusklight through a southern window
(massive stone Palazzo Pubblico).
Like tawny wine upon an ancient fresco.
Time slows there; oaken beams begin to glow.

There easeful Pax (relaxing) yet lifts firm
her salient olive branch. Leans back against
some sloughed-off armor. Shoots a glance
(out of that solid scene) toward you - her charm

begins to work - such casual circumference
as planets wrinkle star. Unfathomable
gentleness (as touch of air upon mobile
swings). Complete silence.

In such a pause, a mantic oracle
cracks wide the secret caverns
of the earth - Antea's green
armful slips off, a catenary coracle

(homeward, by all the Circes of the Nile
at once). As when a brittle film
breaks down - Atlantis turns him
back (around a horsetrack). Infantile

sun-tag, dorsal dormitory murmur.
Myrrh left on a moor, lost in Vigo-
miroir. Melchior-guy. Your
zaddik travail (toward Sheba-star).

The ziggurat of moonlight. It is near
and far, it is here and there...
it is Andromeda, Medusa's double
M - a paw in the waltz-race (purr, purr).

(note: obscure references, Vigo etc... Several years ago, I was in NYC, at Lincoln Center, watching old Vigo movie, L'Atalante. Suddenly the film stopped, started to burn a hole on the screen.... had to leave. Stepped outside - & there was Susan Sontag.)


A silver light whispers along a vine
like tippling water. There I retrace
my steps, across harried pacing
of pavement cop (a raptor's whine).

Lightning smacks the merry-go-round.
Wooden ponies fractured in mid-
canter-prance; a pinwheel calved
into hungry horseshoes. Under

flame, a copper stream broke free;
upon its back, Atalante bobbed
(your lost Frisbee, Henry). Mosquitoes
sobbed like violins in Finland (balsa

sibilance, fey forest ambience).
Formal ship's papers flit through cold
frost breeze - midnight aurora-mold's
brief lofty affidavit (MLK of Paradise).

Only a ribbon of riven quaternion
(near Babylon). Hear ye yon horses
nigh? Where wind hilltop-discourses.
Where a font's pluperfect ratio is born

aloft (ringed by grenadine
repose). Green vines. A wheel
of labile husbandry. You feel
it flex beside a treason-

scene - odd strains of being,
fortified (by seasoned oak).
Electrified folk?
or some Kush-pinon thing...

No comments: