I am what I ham

NIGHT TRAIN

The night train rumbles like a ghost

of iron over the bridge

over the river.  Sage

Minnehaha, Hobo loves you most.

He’s lying by the muddy bank

trying to clear his head.

Everything he’s read

demands – who am I to thank?

The driftwood spines of shattered books

surge downstream, sink.

Think, Hobo, think –

a deadman’s glancing you posthumous looks.

Twin humps in winter refuse

under the lamp-green

of young leaves...  Scene :

pillars try an almond (Moses, Jesus).

Through teenage foliage coheres

the rust-brown iron magnet

of one (hold tight!)

modal mine of shifting gears –

the rocky profile of a personal friend,

who’s center’s nowhere

& who’s hairline is (look there,

Horatio!) nowhere near the end.

A sibyl croons from the ancient world

whose prince is dancing

naked by the prow.  Sing,

mickle dam... like slingshot hurled.

5.7.18

In the deep grain

BIG SHOES

In the deep grain, American

wood flows like river

darkness, Indian-giver

is your claim   start again

with a gamble, shepherd   desert

is your friend   when you

become a   sheep (who-

who, keens   Cyclops-owl).  My yurt

is yours, pilgrim   enunciates

Canonicus (to the dauntless

youth).  His confidence

in the common good   illustrates

the Second Table   of stone

outlines   everyone

understands   Turkmen

& Catholic   Quakers, even –

that the Good   is transparent

& rooted   a charity

branch   shading   the nitty-

gritty (hungry teeth)   your Parent-

Spirit, who is Heir Apparent

&   (apparently)

Ancient of Mondays

also   her name is Clement

or Clementine   she wears big shoes

she drowned   in the river

it was my mistake   her

name   is Jessie (almond   of the Jews)

5.17.16

Dreamsong heads downstream

FRAIL SKY

The sheep in the mosaic, in Ravenna.

Ravens in the scroll,

in the temple (Emanu-el,

off Morris Ave).  & in Siena,

Lady Pax, lolling like Jenna

on the couch, beside

Justitia.  Wide

open, now, your Burchfield scena –

wind, grassland, heartache.

What brung them blues, O shy

bird bro?  Frail sky

disintegrates in Birdy’s eye, beak

cradling bright penguin soot of Man.

Handing his crozier

gently to its heir

a sheepish Father Also-Ran

smiles, mild as any lambkin

Pontifox.  Herder-

gypsies circle ferder

into desert places.  Julius Putin

frescoes chimp dominion, over

stalag mites hiked to hell –

old human story (well,

there goes the antelope).  Clover

for meadows, cottonwood for bison...

Amaranth? – or pick

your poison, Hobo Dick.

I’m rippling a dreamsonge Union.

2.29.16