TATTOO-BASKET
for Sophie, on her birthday
She shines like a little smile of light,
your happiness. Shot through
with violets, with rue
of yellow-gold... a sea-green Amphitrite.
She swam from a box out of the bottomland.
Big Muddy concept –
buried in refuse, inept
mentalities. Blind eye-in-hand,
dread fright of bloody bandage-men.
I stood on my headwaters,
the only Falls that matters –
Mill City, where they grind the grain –
a nauseated Hamlet, dizzy
with green v-vertigo.
Boxed rivers overflow.
He’s Hobo now, or Ishmael, fire-fizzy;
curled up in a tattoo-basket,
floating in the womb
of his own dream-doom
to Gulf of Mexico (Nantucket?)...
where butterflies of poetry
emerge as monarchs
from sea-chrysalides
& sketch fine arcs on pottery
insouciantly, with haunted grace.
Winking tesserae,
unscrambled... Hagia Sophia
with mermaid eyes (each facet-face).
8.21.18
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