epitaph for clabber girls and rubber maids
tonight
all that was america sleeps
in the waning days of copulistic consumption
cloistered
between epic and aphorism
thru an open window
what little is left to us laughs
"the Copalises never
let their fires die out
because they always expected
visitors"
appears the herald derelict
parsed by dimensional instabilities
at the interface
beyond the event horizon what
can we know
only this
that in the fire's waning light we dream
of one who was promised
but never
came
how far did we think we could get
riding that tinker toy train
past lincoln log houses
and lego barns
(Note: the quoted passage in epitaph is from the 1966 edition of A Guide to Indian Tribes of the Pacific Northwest, by Robert H. Ruby, University of Oklahoma Press. The Copalises were a Native American tribe, now extinct or virtually so. They got visitors alright, but not of the sort they had hoped for.)tales of the bovine amoeba
besotted before icons of the erroneous
when was it laughter failed
the moment you arrive in the litter of creation you're rent
with wounds from which words swagger and dance
like ravens enraptured storming heaven
sparking off cracks in the wrath plaster
we tumbled to that old
tumble down dream
what did we know of angels thru the ages
contorted apparitions
predators
with silken tongues
if this were not enough
if this were not enough
could you have found to hand another
after all it's not as if
you were born in a stable
some squalling plastic
plebe in a crèche
you learn the only word
in the language of the bovine amoeba
but can't recall
if it's noun or verb
not your mother's common grievance
after all the weary clowns we danced
not your mother's common grievance
after all the weary clowns we danced
barren and dis possessed of all that was the accreta of light
had we so soon forgotten glimpsing
masks unfold from masks unfolding faces
the bloody fingers of dawn probe the cobbles down a grimy side street
the bloody fingers of dawn probe the cobbles down a grimy side street
for your soul went forfeit early on
bond
for borrowed time
your farce complete the last of your lucifers
quit the stage
footlights dim
to waning embers
the camera captures you
sitting huddled
pen poised on the cusp
of some impossible
revelation
broke down in the damp
broke down in the damp
would alice follow you down