Minnesota Mining & Meditation

BRASS COIL

Among the North American tribes

Ojibwe midéwé medicine

was considered, bar none

dark & strong.  Copper for earlobes,

iron for arrowheads.  The beetling sky

barreled down over tamaracks

as wind made tracks

disappear in shifty drifts... hey ey

yo, winter raven!  Iron mother-bird.

Little Henry Limp

climbed out of the stump

of his papa’s grave (obsequious word,

weaker than puff of cottonwood).

Up there in Rez Cemetery

overlooking Mississippi –

him foolish-fond Ski-Neighborhood,

him dream-nest, reconciling every pain.

Down below on the floodplain

wimpy Abel, mean Cain

wrassled for the gilded unclean

scepter of dominion – going insane;

in that negative snow-light

your abject, self-abasing wight

is king of the weak, the outcast, in his rain.

& who shall have the succession, lil Hamlet?

The brass coil Vengeance

around your wrist, the dance

of California, D.C.... where’d my safety net?

10.21.19

Twelfth Night hullabaloo

OKLAHOMA COAT

I recall those Tudor trumpeters

fanfaring Henry 5th

at the old Guthrie.  Fife &

drum for Toby Falstaff – his theater’s

in the round, all right.  The sonic boom

of a real cannon shook

us out of our seats.  Look!

that’s Jessica T., with the broom –

playing Cesario! – or is she

Queen of Twelfth Night,

planting a silver bullet

in her wedding cake?  Most probably.

I remember reading The King Must Die.

The rites of succession

were crude by comparison

with today.  His finger in every pie,

the Prince had a plum job – lasted

one whole year.  Then

he fell for the Star-Queen

& they found another sacred bastard.

Today we have the Electoral College.

You must be gerrymandered

in order to graduate her;

everybody obeys the original Pledge

of Allergic, with His 12 Dependments.

& one day Malvolio ate

the bean – it was so great!

Tasted like the Ten Commandments

                      *

wrapped in almond nougat, or agate –

Mal became President!

Chef beyond Precedent!

Crowds thundered – Lock up the Maggot!

The Queen fled into hiding, dragging

little Tom Thumb (her twin

brother) into the griffin-

wagon – where they belonged (Sing-Sing)...

Twin Cities was a refuge, then.

Blue heron, bald eagle...

Nothing felt so regal

in that rickety barn, where it all began –

yet somehow, through dread Minnesota

winters, yon honeycomb

tholos kept warm.

In her threadbare Oklahoma coat

bees nested, Woodpecker feasted,

Thunderbird broke the tree;

a little acorn Charlie-

horse became a baby Easter-

chick.  Her Royal Henress brooded

over all the shady dealings

stumping the common wailings

of the groundlings – trampled by hooded

Midas moony-men (roundheads

of Malvolio’s pale clan).

It was just a party plan.  &

Wise Men had their own (not Herod’s).

1.5.17

cold reflective casket

NEGATIVE AURA

They’re readying the great Webb Telescope

to spy on deepest space,

remotest time; a Falcon-Ace

of 18 hexagons – unfolding envelope

or massive sunflower of minstrel mirrors,

golden Land o’Lakes

lenses.  Infinity takes

a very cold reflective casket (yours,

Ophelia).  Meanwhile, down here below,

some Leopardian teller or

Poe-boy bookseller

must trace Columbian fall of sparrow

into bleakest night, last

trumpery.  O quintessence

of hollow volume!  Hence,

3-Card Monty – hateful guest!

As if the door to honey-milky

Providence were locked,

foredoomed.  A thousand shocks

in sovereign succession, so quickly

hammered to an Irish skull...

Earthquake, heartbreak.

Ophelia is in the lake –

my center sinks to muddy soil.

Sun gleams in fireplace of camera,

her little room on high –

her lampblack like a sty

in prism orange (strange negative aura).

11.22.16