wee bauble of Providence


Mark Twain, pilot, plummets
to the river-depths.
Hobo-poet steps
Twin Cities morris-dance (let’s

follow him).  The deep dive
of the mystery of each
child – landed on a beach
in Egypt, or in Bethlehem (I’ve

got a certain kid in mind).  Already
requiem in Alexandria
(the library).  Memento mori.
Osiris?  Full of bookworms, Henry.

A Master Mason?  Hire ‘im.
11.32 ft/sec...
– wait a sec – ham
radio?  In RI?  The signal’s dim.

Garfield died 23.5 degrees
off Library pedestal.
So we meet the eternal –
a starry Book Depository (seas

rising... queasy feeling) charms
the assassin into travesty
(sick temper, see).
O westward course of life’s alarms!

I don’t know where we’re going, Hobo
Henry wails.  An infant
Providence is born.  Want
mangy truth?  Frail monarch is a rainbow.


No comments: