WOODEN WHORL
A Mediterranean or Middle
C – see? Fulcrum
tempered on kingdom
come. Providential soul-paddle.
Twin clouds of mist will frame
a motionless Morning Star.
Twin mares in a mirror
churn in her glory (lightnin’ flame).
Like Jonahs – brother-&-sister doves
chasing from dawn to dusk
their emerald cornhusk.
A linen cosmos-veil of mazel tovs
lips fashioned like coral canoe
skim swiftly upstream
to your veritas sunbeam –
Shakespearean headwaters (J-blue).
The wooden whorl of the knot-king,
skipping his safety net
around Gennesaret.
The one the crowds exalt... fling
into cauldron of Viking thing
(Odin’s raven, circling
– no, three). O tree-ring
spiraling up from sea – sing,
C, for me! The murky river
bottoms out past Memphis,
Cairo... (chi-rho, Isis) –
Mark Twain, sounding... forever.
10.8.18
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