12.10.2019

train to Boston




FATE-LINES

Hobo follows his instinct to the river.
A serpentine circulation,
labyrinth – heart’s burn.
Romans might haruspicate the liver

of an ox, or note the forays of a raven
like smoke-signals overhead;
Hobo lingers with his own dead
Providence photos – train to Boston

or that old blind man who walks the plank
straight off the cliff (at Prospect
Park).  Ghosts intersect.
Eurydice in San Fran hits a blank

wall of blue salt water.  Prince Henry Hal
uproots the better part of soul
to be the bard imperial –
shelving himself with racks of Fleurs du Mal.

To be refuge for troubled consciences,
Rhode Island was.  & was.
Hobo works with materials
by eye-in-hand (fate-lines, hunches);

commissioned for a wedding-song
of earthen pots (Cahokian)
& Morning Star – where one
Virgo-conjunction plants her Gateway prong

the Rio del Espiritu Santo will merge
St. El with Muddy Waters
& Ravenna’s virgin martyrs
with a N’Orleans fanfare... cosmic splurge.

12.10.19

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