11.25.2018

when morning stars sang all together




ROSE QUARTZ
                  
The delicate crystallographer
chipped at rose quartz
in a mica mirror.  What’s
wrong with the signal?  Fuzzier,

now, out of Nazireth.  We’re
missing the calendar,
oh hazy November –
have to find a new atmosphere.

Hobo (along jungle river)
envied that lofty poet
on the hilltop.  What
brings you here, Indian-giver?

The Song of Minnehaha (Henry
Wordfish Lungfellow);
light black-&-yellow
swallowtail (aye, amen, Re).

In Happy Hunting Ground,
HHG.  Your twin
brother – like the sun
breaking through Narragansett Sound –

when morning stars sang all together,
hearty & brave (children
from incandescent freedom-
sun).  Under the tender tether

of ineffable Intellect   O
lambent   star (Grace
Ravlin   Falcon-Ace)
with Notre Dame   at zero-

                 *

hour.  Your brother is a simple
carpenter, Hobo.  He
studied Victimography
with Cyber-Ciphering, & Ample

Anthropology (Social Jeering) –
yet loved that golden
bubble (in the cauldron
of the level) more than anything.

Because the sense of being right
flows like a burbling
stream – wondering
into verbal dirigible... bright

speaking thundercloud... imaginary
friend of Liberty
(Decembrist charity –
Crimean exile, Pushkin-boy).

The government of Liberty
is of consent, not force;
our kingdom of remorse
enfolds Redemption at its source.  See,

child?  We have outlived the Minotaur;
Ariadne’s simple thread
leads to your kindred
by the glowing gemstone samovar

of hearthblaze – everlasting joy
warm crystalline kingdom
rose-violet   freedom
smokehole to Wakan Tanka   in the sky

11.25.18

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