wave-factor

ARBOR DAY

The wave-factor on a riverboat

differs downstream (or

up).  Rocking the shore

like thread of Agnes Martin’s Night

Sea.  & we are far from home.

Waves of corny grain,

of grass, of wheat... Main

Street.  Grant Wood’s metronome.

He lived four blocks from Henry Negus.

Farmer turned lawyer-

transportation czar

(bus co.) in Iowa City – is

my namesake (great grandfather).

Quaker-shlepherd genehaulogy.

American Gothic, see (flea!) –

straight from dry-humus bow-bent flower.

Arbor Day.  Planting families

of fanatics in the grass –

another word for pass

the ammunition, Grandma.  Crazies,

huh?  All-American.  Beyond

the scope of Scopes Trial,

Solomon... we’re all

afloat upon some stinkin’ frogpond

paddle-wheeler.  Gothic was light

pontoon (Jerusalem).

Grail-Sepulchre rim.

Gitchee-Pollen-Air, up & walkin’... right?

7.15.18

American Gothic

SPRING CLOVER

This light foam of wild spring clover

on a green hummock, like

a burial mound, back

to the river... O my Irish rover.

& only the plain brown smock

on a Quaker wife

(with the quincunx life-

crux) remains – to lead the flock

in a morris dance (slim track

to paradise).  American

Gothic.  Meridian

through cornland, by the clapboard shack

which was Birthplace of Herbert Hoover –

where a Belgian oasis

for inscrutable Isis

echoes the cenotaph to Henry’s Clover

(the other Henry, in another city).

Wind wafts through green

montage like a has-been

Hobo, wheezing dew (for pity).

Hard to make a go of it, under

them glum St. Louee flying

spirit-flings!  Crying’s

no help – you have to be Apollinaire.

The spray, the veil, the rosy foam.

The train, the backward boots.

Minotaur, with his galoots.

Ariadne with her pigeon, humming home.

6.11.18