MEMPHIS FLOOD
It was the winter of our ill-advised
& misconsent. Embouldered
Julius the Quartered,
housed within his wanton witness,
raged (a savage orange walrus
full of fetid fire) against
that bad news feminist
in flight from Rus (hilarious!) –
while he, with his false staff, embarked
upon a cross rubes’ con
(some matryoshka manikin!)
against Old Ironsides... which worked!
– for temporizing (time... & two times
at a time). The war was on.
“Where is the server, then?”
barked Julius again, again. Crimes
filtered down like snow from Kremlin
gremlins. Stark treason,
trickling out its own raison
d’état, took aim at Mississippian
Columbia. One fiery wheat grain
in her heart – one star-
quintessence of her
pyramid – opened its eye again;
the child she harbored in her arms
across the Memphis flood
cried – “Human brotherhood!”
– & smiled. Light pierced the storms.
1.25.20
