fault-line tattoo


Step by shaky step, lame Hobo
spirals the lead-grey hump,
an awkward salience – dump
or agate-hold?  He doesn’t know.

Like Doc Woodpecker, peppering
the old birchbark, testing
the ribs for air – a ring
of hollow knock-knock, worm-hurling.

The sap running... a red thread
of civet.  Venison
oozing from the cauldron.
There’s no going back to the dead.

In the splendor of the west window
a minute glass tear
bisects its mirror –
eggshell splinter twixt Église & you.

My almond diamond, mutters Hobo.
Ring around the rosy,
let’s all go see
Thunderbird (hear the wind blow).

Notes of a flute, along the river.
Ocarina in the woods.
Hums through stray moods
of autumn... Black Elk (Indian giver).

You trace the zigzag coral coil –
a Queequeg scar, knifed
into casket-crown.  Life-
line for Jonah.  Rachel’s whorl-oueil.


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