if I walk through this wormhole

LEAN MUSIC

If I walk with Hobo through this wormhole

at the bottom of a zigzag

Mississippi... will I see Cesca Tag

again, when we were young (my soul)?

In Providence?  Et tu, S2?

Picketing the perimeter

of Sagittarius A*,

noting that gravitational tug, you

sense her there, the ghost star...

back of an ecce-crypt

time-vacancy you slipped

through (holeworm, treacherous sailor).

Lean music of the sunflower.

Tall spirit loyal to the sky.

Your gravity a steel gateway,

oar-eye – florescing tacit power.

So this gold Einstein-Rosen bridge

domed by the Milky Way

shines like a lighthouse ray

into a monarch’s heart.  You wedge

there, anxiously, between her wings,

like the child in the blindfold

when a Black Ship sailed...

til tenderly his midnight origami brings

enfoldment to the nth dimension;

Liberty her royal seal

in beeswax, breathing... feel,

Hamlet, soft sunlight’s restoration!

11.19.19

the sense of being right

GREEN EYE

The sense of being right, said Mandelstam

confronted by the Kremlin

goons.  Gumilev’s vision

of sweet radiance (chaste equilibrium

of morning dew).  The restoration

of all things might not be

some dystopic unreality

but a balancing of earth & heaven –

the way a canoe takes wing downstream

like feathery kayak

or golden bubble-track

across the sky (the Ocean River of your dream).

Kennedy, Jack.  A 4-leaf clover

assassinated every day

along with brother Bobby, &

King, Martin Luther (justice-lover).

A green eye floats, engraved over

the pyramid.  I calibrate

the shifting angles of a late

Atlantis – one heartbroken sky-rover

whose tears will magnify an Iris

in transit, like Venus

(from luxuria to lux

aeternam).  She was born for this –

to be the eye-in-hand of muddy clay

transmitting Jonah to Columbia;

to launch a hallelujah

from Monk’s Mound to D.C. (U.S.A.).

11.17.19

it begins w'Thou

ROSE ISLAND

If I had a mind like Aristotle

Augustine or Aquinas

able with calm patience

to unfold the metaphysical

origami of the whole

rose-petalled ensemble

of creation, mon semblable...

– shimmering Ocean River, roll!

Everything hinges on a little tree

– willow or almond,

sycamore, elm –

transmuted into living body;

tall ash, strong oak of poetry

spilling Imago Dei

(with verbal carpentry)

into an Argo-trimmed Horus-eye

of Providence.  It begins w’Thou.

Psyche’s agate lamp

winking through the swamp

of live-oak garlands signals true

(one if by land, two if by sea)

– leads on to victory

over my own frailty –

out of buried man, a new Henry!

Where the rose Venn diagram

of departed lips whispers

through golden calipers

a reconciliation of I am

              *

& ever shall be (simple psalm

adrift over clay towers)

cloisters the eye’s powers

in immaculate seaworthy emblem –

mandorla (your birchbark canoe).

O light of knowledge

from beyond knowledge,

heart’s mystic bridge mirrored below

at River’s edge!  Whose Jonah lifts

dove-light from deeps,

& as a dolphin leaps

beyond Atlantic hieroglyphs

the figure of an infant Son of Man

bobs in her coracle

newborn – primordial

origin, eye of hurricane!

The free conscience, soul liberty

subsists within your peace

which passeth, Golden Fleece –

lamb of the Lammas loaf, mercy

& flame of lambent fellowship;

stone mosaics in Ravenna

& the tomb of Alighieri

radiate the scent... lambs skip

there, in the cradle of our limbs,

beneath the opening flower

of your glance!  O bower

& rose island – spring of river-hymns!

3.12.19

chaired in the adamant of time

GOLDEN EYE

Everything known beforehand, O

my prophetic soul –

fate of gray pebble,

unknown soldier.  Black Sea, Argo...

those towering fig trees outside

the Sydney Observatory.

& inside, the orrery

projecting Southern Cross as diamond

(4-dimensional octahedron, or

great acorn of light).

A blue-green planet,

turquoise, emerald – your

dream-song door (hinge balanced

on a level’s golden eye).

Heirship of carpenter’s high-

beam ballet... tightrope (entranced).

A figurehead, chaired in the adamant

of Time.  Isis in Ohio,

Iowa... your Clover, so

low.  Lift her out of the slough, St.

Joan – lift her out of the grave.

A salience in St. Louis –

upturned canoe... Jessie

Ophelia, mickle gateway (moon-wave).

Behold, a child is born, Virgin

appears from heaven again;

my iron age turns golden

monarch, winged flower (human).

3.7.19

like a dream

BLIND EYE

Like a dream in the womb, in the mind of a maid

before all things were made.

Came naturally, she said

when the foundations of reality were laid.

Providence, burnished by smoky November.

Like a canoe on the edge

of the cataract of knowledge...

at Prospect Terrace.  You remember.

Roger Williams, sturdy son of man.

Dark grayish blue

Hope Diamond, you

whisper (below junk jewelry scams) your plan

for Providence.  Triangulated eye

over the Mammon-pyramid.

Re’s Eye, long hid

in our blind eye – to crucify,

Henry (in RI).  That woman in the wilderness

of last things (Chinese vase

still circuiting her stillness).

French, blue, Jeanne.  Fiery duress...

Only a child’s distress.  Cordelia.

Le coeur de Lear, de l’ear...

Coeur de Lion, here.

Skinny crane-bag (of ocean spray)...

St. Paul’s most blazing eloquence

out of heart’s Pig’s Eye.

South of the city –

Mississippi limestone (fossil evidence).

11.16.18

digging in the dirty green

AYE-AYE

The dirty green of the dollar bill.

Gardener George, earwigged

on one side (with a big

little Mona Lisa smile).

The eye over the pyramid (annuit

coeptis) on the other.

Levitating, mother!

Mammon, touching his limit –

a gilded pharaoh, forced to step

sideways (into the river-

sand).  Busy beaver

out of Illinois might be princeps

round here (nobody knows

til all the votes are counted).

We are all the Lord’s anointed

Preacher-Judge (siege perilous)

leers in the face of b-flat storm –

Cordelia, ascend

your throne, bend

everyone to teeming agape (love’s form).

The government shall be upon

his shoulder (right to left)

until the desolate bereft

& greedy soul relents – a human

Imogen emerges, lowly

& victorious.

Dancing the periplus

of Arg-Noah (144, aye-aye).

12.12.17

in the conning tower

SALT PATTERN

Sophie sketching a choo-choo train

in blue crayon, & a trio

of engines in bright yellow-

black (Union Pacific) planing

across a dented overpass

share the light matrix-

argot of a peacock’s

fan-continuum (sea-surface).

Your eye that opens like a morning

glory forged into fusion

stronger than the sun

this amorous union, splendoring

a plume – your planet, raveled into

one.  Its gyroscopic

spin is geodesic

liftruweight – a feathery canoe

scaled up the hoary Nile to be

fair, kind & true

(peacock’s mosaic view

breathing accordion transparency).

Who then can be my enemy?

Why do the ogres rage

& tinpots ruse to stage

mock war upon me?  Jealousy?

from lambent arboreal North

snow slants softly down

a rose meridian

to blanket aboriginal South

                *

radiant in sibylline East

as tawny dogwood leaf

light welds a choral reef

to Liberty’s gull-dappled West

A shady chess piece in the tower

angles shark advantage

with a flanking edge –

the twisted blade, the bribe’s power;

on prison railroads to the pole

pecking iron grain

by long division

sowing lizard’s teeth (drum roll)

all for a subterfuge of thieves

who plant not (neither

shall they hive)... where

then their homing in the sheaves?

Like a black hole torn through

ice-gilded armor, light

gravity sets right

your kayak’s calm ellipse (true

almond eye, beaming beyond

all scheming pyramids).

Whose birchbark lids

one cosmic hexagon – fond

snowflake angel-star – salt

pattern at the end

of Everychild’s roadbend –

bright rainbow out of Ocean vault.

1.13.17