DREAM SONGS
Early cold air makes light more clear
toward Veteran’s Day.
Only whisper a ray
through the Mexican mirror, my hero (here
& now). Who gave a last full measure
to the metronome of fate –
her solemn bell drones late
over these midnight hexagons (white hair
of graves). Whisper it back to me,
quietly, quietly. Dark
wake of Noah’s Cutty Sark,
trailing to Southern Cross, Black Sea.
Your raven circles to the end of speech.
These crumbs will be enough.
Twin shoulders lift the rough
yoke – walk a path to Ocean Beach.
A stone like diamond lost in Voronezh –
gray pebble, agate
hidden in the gate...
forged fate of Man as Uncle George
the Unknown Soldier... gardener
outside her smithy-cave,
their humus-world to save.
Come in. These stones weather
Siberian winter – like Finnish sauna
finished in Hyperborea;
out of Lake Victoria
or Sydney, Australia (hurrah
*
for the green black & blue)... faint echo
out of Mexico,
where all the monarchs go.
The earth will be redeemed... but very slow.
Up the street from your view of heaven
in another neighborhood
hearts hard for good
pitch darkness toward Pacific Union –
money grooves & spectral hates
congeal in orange ogre-
hats... scared morgue-
hacks... guile of guppy hypocrites...
All politics is local, sez.
In Minneapolis
black is really less
skin in the game (the realtor biz);
up at the lake, the fishermen
cash in their walleyes;
hunters in disguise
carry the venison for Uncle Ben
(Rice Lake). The joker’s going wild.
He’s up by White Bear –
FBI got there?
Over near Mound – which bullets? Piled?
Dream songs must leave behind the fear,
greed, hate. Earth clay is one,
& Manitou is
done (for today). Help with the bier?
11.9.17
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