FICTIONAL GARAGE
Hobo staggers along the riverbank
halfway between Henry
& Osiris (bury-
man). Call him Halfway Hank.
Like Bluejay all out of mummer’s tricks
memories of a Myth America
detach from his hat (ha-ha,
caw-caw). Tall Tale of Two-Sticks
maybe – or The Time We Had a Picnic.
Nostalgia for infinity
invokes our Plenty-
Big-Prairie; mysterieux Henri Pick
was anonymous, along with Alexander P.
These meadowlands are Russian.
Thunder’s Oblomovian this
afternoon (American iz you & me).
So memory would like to dab a fresco
containing a continent.
As when a canoe is bent
around a bough of yew, or spent willow...
in some fictional garage in Ferrara
where recent immigrants
gather for sustenance
like Jonah huddled in a whale’s cantina
& the eye in your hand opens like a tear
& the river streams into the Gulf
where Wolfram & Beowulf
celebrate Thanksgiving (more Grail? – here).
7.16.19
