in memoriam Liu Xiaobo

                                                i.m. Liu Xiaobo

The workmen are building a great new wall
beside my octagonal turtle-
hermitage – where Sophie’s little
ruddy chair sits patiently, for one & all.

Another chair remained in Stockholm,
waiting for a noble prince
to win his prize of Peace.
His prize is won.  He’s going home.

He held his vigil by Heavenly Gate.
Hatred can rot a person’s
wisdom & conscience,
enemy mentality poison the spirit

of a nation, inflict brutal life & death
struggles, destroy a country’s
tolerance, humanity...
They want to bury him deep in the earth

yet verily I say to you, unless
a grain of wheat falls
into earth & dies,
it remains alonebut if it dies

it bears much fruit.  I remember
the orange Chinese lantern
peeking its bright octagon
out of green shade.  Welcome glimmer

with hidden crimson berry – lamp
of mountain sheepherder
marked by the torture
cell like turtleshell (or scarab stamp)


only to grope toward pine-green Liberty.
My beetle’s modest haruspex,
the ideogram for pontifex,
key row-your-boat for Vera City –

check the N-trail labyrinth.
This liver between Earth
& Sky was micro-moth
or Maximus (locked up til 44th

of July, by Bureau of Injustice).
His wounded knee, his tender
foot, his gentle mind were
furrowed brow, for cultivating scholars...

Thrones are made for serial tumblers.
You can demote King Tubby Lou,

kill Voodoo Queen Marie – so
what?  Arrestocrats come back in numbers

juggling for electric chairs.  Polly
Pound says so, the mystical
Apologist of Tyranny; she’ll
sow you Uncle Ez’s grapes – see

how they make great yappy whine!
(& his chinoise Confusion
still bakes a mean Rune
Cake.)  He not the Way, sez Hen.

The blot thickens.  Blue Emperor Mon-Ki,
with his twin princelings, Rude May-Hem
& Gilt Moon-Eye... descended from
Lord Me-Man, Minotaur of Die-Nasty...


[sludge on the honey-scroll, I guess]
We circulate by arrow-
glance, the human sorrow
of disharmony (each creepy-eepy instance);

only the gentleness of Manitou
the windy sheep-liver
& fleet   lamb-giver
who stands   magnanimous & true

blue cedar (melodious   rainbow
of royal   Reality)
is King.  So let her be.
Your soul, sealed so, dear Liu Xiaobo –

your spouse, waiting by prison-house,
will flex her wings, & spread
your word – rise from the dead;
her torch (inalienable human justice)

shines from copper harbors & green hills;
over harm & over hate,
ever-flowing   light on light
descends   like turtledove   on twisted wills

to straighten ways   streams merging
into concord   toward the sea
Ocean of Charter 8   mercy
& fellowship   in gratitude   Thanksgiving

Day   after the battlefields are still
& Liberty beams   far & wide
her smile   across the tide
& turmoil of the mind’s   sand-castle jail


No comments: