the mural crown

HIDDEN LIFE

This silvery light of a rainy day

in late December.  Neutral,

nested in its gray scale

along a standoffish Mississippi

(little Big Muddy).  Icons of vagrancy

are history.  Only

tell me, who is Tyche

now?  Who wears her mural crown of clay?

The mural crown is a martyr’s crown.

Seared semaphore of Liberty.

Tom, within his sanctuary

clocked by King Hank’s automaton.

& you, speechless ancient mother

of my tongue... Oaxaca pot

with 4 legs & 4 faces, hot

from kiln – my sis Jonah (there is no other).

A hidden life, in high green alps

of loving consciousness.

Where our union of Succession-

Restoration comes in great gulps

of transparency (over gnarled rivalries,

distempered lunacy,

frustrated tyranny...

Narcissus in the burnt oak trees).

All history now, Henry.  We drank

life’s Honigwein

with Weinsteins, in

torrid Odessa... felt unfathomable thanks.

12.29.19

essential graphene histrionics

AUTUMN NIGHT

My biographical Brown Decades tumbled

rapidly by, in Providence.

How simply the silence

of these beseeching trees (autumn

at the Arboretum) speaks to me!

Alex Weinstein, in Mt. Auburn...

stood there with Sandy (Grecian

Urn?  Likely committed it to memory).

He played the violin at 91.

Emigré from Odessa –

fruit-fly research @ Columbia –

loved poetry & science... (thread-thin,

stooped, seraphic gentleman

of Cambridge Mass.) –

& so the fleet years pass,

callow Henry, to Thanksgiving (amen,

amen).  I put my faith in one

contextual canoe –

dry tacit Quaker taboo

against unquestioned superstition;

a sort of Boston Personalism

accepting each whorl

of conscience as the real

sign of some ineffable wisdom –

spring, source, coil, J

spiraling beneath a moon

brighter than cogitation

tonight... in a jumbled chaos of hay

                  *

stacked (by osmosis-creation)

across twistronic history

into graphene infinity.

Histrionics of pacemaker nation?

No, kid – it is the equilibrium

of a canoe or gyroscope

emanating (spilling hope)

out of the heart of the Imperium

accosting the Seizer of All Good

with adjusted reciprocity

of infinite mercy –

that normative hearth-neighborhood

established on the everlasting rock

of I & Thou, of eye

& dhou (equality

the ratio of the basic J’nah-Ark).

& so the weird Isis-receptacle

of Mirror-I-Am

fuses in twin-rhyme

with Notre Dame; so the spectacle

of male narcissism becomes unviable

at ordinary crowing

of Rhode Island Red – being,

like palm at the end of the mind, able

to hoot like Owl o’Athena

in the autumn night of

history   (the shadow of love

bending over your cradle)   Ephphatha

11.5.19