1.22.2019

I stir the Pythian gumbo of Apollinaire




BRONZE ANNALS

The Palladium forsook Byzantium
on a Black Wednesday
near Pentecost (hey
yo).  In the old Orpheum

Theatre (off Hennepin) Stravinsky
leads Ballet Russe
to rude cathartic truce
around the bonfire of a galaxy –

a human maypole (at the end of May).
She’s only Morning Star.
The young Apollinaire
is debonaire... they waltz away.

Salt sea-wash on another shore
throws up a Kennedy...
Melchizedek?  O, he
will pass through temple walls before

bronze annals of the oak tree close.
A little emerald windlass
winds your thread, Theseus.
A Selkie off the Newport coast,

a water-sprite from far-off Ocean...
laving heart of Berryman,
& salty Hart (Ohioan);
lifting Juliet from self-destruction.

Ineffable ark of Vierge Ouvrante,
imperishable human smile –
Love’s gentle campanile,
lofting aforesaid acorn-infant.

1.21.19

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