let me orchestrate a pantomime

NUT-BRIDGE

Epileptic Dante struggling like a trapped ant

in his centaur-world

in medias res, Gould –

in RI, for example (not so pleasant).

& nothing gets better in Minneapolis

immediately, automatically

or even slowly, gradually

& verbiage without chasteness

is only noise, eh.  We all agree, eh?

IGNIS NATURA RENOVATUR INTEGRA

– fire renews nature as a

whole – spiritual telos of poetry...

So let me orchestrate a pantomime

rooted in that ancient flame

proceeding from a paradigm

of our immaculate Ariadne-dame;

the shoreline seething with desire

under a summer moon again,

& memory of lambent pain

(Ocean’s infinite suspire).

As when Hart’s Hobo settles down

at last... rolls on to sea

& stubborn ghost of MLK

becomes triform Medusa-Charon

only to deliver newborns (on

St. Christopher’s Day).

Naked Nut-bridge, say –

or eye-in-hand (almonds in Mendelssohn).

7.7.19

rattlesnakes & wild hogs

woodcut by Mary R. Gould

BLANK MIRROR

Hobo & Henry (mirror lakes of ice)

hunker down by the Miss

in apocalyptic freeze.

Global worming – ain’t nice,

offers Hobo.  Henry stands on a log

of spongy cottonwood,

to speechify.  I would

gather everyone in D.C. – slug

it out with themeny!  Hobo : Who he?

King Henny Gowanabe?

Beware Coatlicue,

m’deer!  She got that panoply

um rattlesnakes & wild hogs,

rootin’ all around –

Iagoons, Macboars... ground

Z for Camazone swamp hellhound dogs!

In the blank mirror of unconsciousness

the stone-cold powers

& the lotus-flowers

collide in a collusion...  Heartlessness,

she mutters.  Hobo sunk down.

Cheer up, old boy,

sez Hank.  My Book of J

opines beneath Cordelia’s Crown;

she shone me that Madonna del Parto

flaring like Indian mound –

high Sophie’s dancing ground

(who shall restore our humane Beneficio).

1.30.19

all the way to Mt. Moriah

ALMOND-BREAD

This weightless branch of butternut

floats in the August stillness

like palm-frond of Isis

in sky-barge of Cleopatra-Nut.

Earth grown deserted as a pyramid.

Nothing moves in silence

like Lion-Sphinx

crouching with a question on her eyelid-

casket – just for you, Orpheus-

Oedipus.  Your arcane

cane limps against the grain,

gone serpentine... a missing Theseus.

Where’s Ariadne then?  Arise,

light Jonah-seer, sweet

grey-eyed sister!  Meet

him in the wrinkles of the Minotaur’s

disguise, find him in the stone face

sleeping like a Roman guard –

motionless, Medusa-hard,

until your gardener grins in his place.

She’s kneading my clay now, adamantine

mother of amusement.

All the way to Mount

Moriah, she’s dragging my crown.

She’s molding the planet, children –

shaping this loafer into ships

of almond-bread, with those lips.

Those eyes are sparks for tinder-men.

8.9.18

Limestone Medusa

DOUBLE-WE

Something inherent in the stone,

the milky, the snow-seasoned

Winnebago (Indian mound).

A pregnant plot, expectant zone...

one-stringèd salt-shanty, or tent

of tentative meeting.

Limestone Mediterranean

USA, moon-galloping... unspent

Ethiopian Edith (double-we).

String’s stretch-to-break

(real Rimini headache)

loops through Persephone-tragedy –

Tiresias whispering mother-wit

or pock-marked moon

keening her Dionysus-loon

(rive-marine beyond yon Key West

jetty).  If the Greeks could see...

but it’s not necessary.

Stout military

Perseus will refract the sea

into a trillion dolphin-heaps;

Poseidon’s jealousy

toss Cassiopeia

upside to her throne (for keeps).

The circle of the sea (deep Circe)

revolves round Galilee –

Pygmalion will be

revived in thee, Pocahontas-B. 

10.6.15

may the circle be unbroken

One of the more obscure sections, I guess...

14

 
The hollow hoot of the freight train sets it seal
on a limitless night.  Plowman leans on a line,
glancing over his shoulder (fleeting scene
of red-tipped feathers - Red's farewell).

 
Spirits shuttle to the shady gates (engulfed
in fanes of wheedling arms) and Vulcan sets
the type with rugged characters - Calypso,
Circe; the scalds, the scars.  Wolf-

 
meals, in the blue forest; a rustic war
of mirror-brethren, fixed in their Medusa-
headrest.  Slumber's their insignia :
engravings of engraving, "star" for star.

                                
                   *

 
As you move toward sleep, the leavings of the loom
loom over the deep... over the speechless
limbs.  A boy who wanted to play with dolphins
feeds the sharks (its name, its doom).

 
He frets your opulent asides, the festal
trumpetings, the wails of whales; you feel
closer to home, Ulysses, as you steal
a green wink from the morbid burial's

 
abiding score.  You left his earthy body
on Calypso's shore, and for Penelope
you clipped his jasper bandolier (she
toys with it in the grass... tombs it away).