SLOW CHANT
Brown river, in a transept of browns.
In a gully of mid-March.
She slides by Arch
to Gulf, to be engulfed (drowns).
A scrawny bird scrapes overhead.
Plain sea-gull? Or
some magpie pio-pio –
newsy jailbird finch (last heard
in 1938)? What about Mudpie Robbins,
the St. Louis Cardinal?
Pitches his meta-material
nested steady state hysteresis (spins
on clumps of slag – chaotic shmush
of paired radii
with reversible pi
slippage). Camouflage whoosh
like an unremarkable cup nest, filled
with grass & rootlets…
one a them twig safety nets!
Jams into stadium – an emerald,
mobile stable of staple u-particles
crowded along a spectrum
between sand, cotton… some
aleatory compass… (see Hunter King articles).
Over the chained bay waters –
rhumb line of pilot-bird.
Oscillating upward
into a faery 4-leaf clover’s
*
earliest, minuscule sward…
as a Newport plover’s
nimble track veers
o’er sand waves (Ocean bard).
So from the lifeless mineral heart
of Minotaur, a green
sprig, emerald gemstone
springs. With Nestorian art
(Eugenio’s grin) all the birds of the air
assemble in the palm tree;
a mustard seed (tiny,
fiery) molts to canoe (in her Ferrara lair)
& branches crossways, into quatrefoil;
the remote & royal midnight
blue of Southern Cross (right
up there) hovers over river-soil,
& the Firebird (that sole Pentecostal
scorching glossolalia
slammed into orb-regalia)
skims from our Mater Dolorosa
biomimetic widow Rose… bent
beneath rose window
(Apollinaire’s slow
chant out of humbuggery, resilient).
So the nesting instinct of the Nazir,
the mother Hen of Rabbi
Rooster-Crow, will sigh
& spring an Easter egg (O Chanticleer).
3.18.20
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