9.21.2017

Hobo's New Year Address



VENETIAN GALLEYS

The gentle adagio of these
yellow butternut leaves
like Venetian galleys
cantering down into the grass.

The slim ribs & spine of each
a gilded replica
of that emerald armada
still tethered to its summer beech.

Prophetic microcosm, georgic
farewell speech.  The poem
wavers down to home
so... some big moody Amerique

or bottomland Berryman mound.
Hobo will mutter her.
He misses her forever
sunk by fratricidal wound.

We cannot remain free unless
we recognize each other
in ourselves, bro – so your
Uncle George cries in the wilderness.

Hobo would touch the iron swing,
its rust-corroded spring,
chi-rho, chi-rho.  Wing,
Raven, down to Mexico – sing

autumn’s monitory mirror.
Minotaur must turn anew.
Like Rosh Hashanah, you
shall too.  O Planet, hear.

9.21.17

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