Pines in Atlantis-land


In the powerhouse of Providence
lame little Eddie Poe
must play the game hero –
like a minnow tar, fire-pitted mensch

against Mini-Mini-Tick Leviathan,
his haunt of fearful gravity.
His force is a depravity
of animal instinct – Heraclitean

axis of control – apes’ pecking order,
magnified by policy
(raison d’état, you see).
O too-familiar monster, O – our

puzzle-master, oiled in wrestle-hold,
whose flags flap overhead
above each engineered 
corpse-shed (floods memories untold).

The silver dime, Elsie – your Grecian
Artemis – will not
suffice; this Ariadne-knot
must be released, for peace to reign

the dam must burst; an equilibrium
of equity must level out
the bruised minefield.  Bright
misery in wells of eyes... come,

Maggie Shekinah, come Galilean
Buffalo Gal (Eureka-
Psyche)... Standing Rock
pines in Atlantis-land – rise up again.


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