Lanthanum 10.15

Old Hobo, see – h-hand shakes, strokes pigeons
splayed across h-hum-array of keyed-up shades.
As if that bent-rottenèd rote-durn fence had
speared one palm, a glancing blow (sidewinder’s
bronze, or copperhead-positioned hand-breath).
That thick-veined, sandpaper palm even bleeds
a little, aye.  Hey, it peeps through the weeds
of crosshatch lifelines, fateline... all that spent
J-man’s skittery-jaggery 88’s.  As if an orb
lay nestled in a pidgin, sway-dangling ‘pon
wheeze-stablished cedar stool.  Nested dome
or vexèd cave... magnetoreceptive earlobe-
jewel... some loco jeepers-mercator for wingèd
longing (Palm Trio, opus 1132 – or was it 3168?
– forget!).  A lady, loitering in inner lake (wait-
staff in shuddery Lebanon) tripulates childhood
again (Bukovina, & Mendelssohn).  Her J-coat’s
reversible, too – cue for tiny-teeny MOM to
harbor (O m’gal St. Lou-Pea!) yon angled OMO
(muses maiden Maggie, by the fire).  Compost
compôte, geological Hobo-mélange (deep clay
formation – mellifluent limey, in crypt)... only
an aye-aye, in the hand of a hand – bifocal
bond, unbreakable foundation.  Love’s foray
into crane-bone tune – Ocean Rose (smoke-sign
from clouds).  Heart’s closest-secret closet
Sung y’Songe, that only Maggie understood – yet
swaddled in those hills (tight, tight).  Shared.  All.

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