GRAY PAINT
The vast Flemish panorama
coheres in a raven’s eye.
Through haunted oaks, high
wind tosses bugle-calls (taran
tara). Bruegel’s gray paint congeals
on the perimeter
of the sea... Demeter
wanders like a Walloon reels
caterwauling, Persephone!
In Flanders grass, poppy-
purpura (like the sea
around a stubby Orizaba) –
only the poem is humble
enough to bear the yoke
of a poshlost rude joke.
She won’t let you stumble,
Psyche, in your edgy sundance.
That quatrefoil in the blue
mortuary was for you,
poilu (Apollinaire) – entrance
to complete volume of sibylline
Mnemosyne. Pine
tree pantomime... a line
of sketchy aquamarine (shan shui).
A jasper circumference defines
our Atlantean task,
to reconcile each mask
of pathos (in a matrix of threadlines).
4.8.16
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