peregrinations of a chair


That blazing Paradisal throne
at apex of the Rose –
for lucky Henry, Dante’s
messianic king (whose arbitration

disinterested, just & fair
may foster restoration
for acerbic nation)
is not much like this baby chair

Sophie brought from Providence
its bright red plastic beached
in Minneapolis (porched
beneath a cedar octagon of silence,

anonymity).  Vertiginous
encompassing domain
of spiritual Zion...
that firmament Moses, Aquinas,

Aristotle wrought in brazen
ineradicable raven-
ink (the prophet’s organ-
groan, the scribe’s deep acumen)

out of the ghetto of Venetian
copper foundry, lifting
moss-green Liberty (sing,
Lazarus, your stormy consummation)

into wave-bent infinite prairie –
a horizontal plate
caressed by grassland fate
beneath high snowmelt of Persephone


& Evening Star (ineffable complete
coniferous oak tree
whose almond amie
trรจs jolie spreads acorns at her feet

into an ancient corn-maze wheel)
– O Henry, where’s
the seat of these empires?
Your throne’s only an acorn peel –

your realm a plastic kiddy chair.
Raven zigzags the gazebo –
traces Incan shadow
aslant cornices inscrutable (& bare).

Eagle or condor even higher.
Pure air (transparent)
laves the fundament.
An equal sign grounds every choir

in Lincoln-logos (quipu-fire).
Chaste diamond of snow
& Black Elk’s slow
Wakan Tanka (Vallejo-spire)

turning every way.  You’ll see
the back of me, until
you recognize Good Will
I Am.  In Red Wing country,

where grey Thunderbird came down
to meet his Galilean
twin – the two-in-one
Tom-Tom, guest-dancing (holy clown).


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