Month: May 2022

Whitman’s Thrush

THIRD rock from the sun, zoomed in on wetlands,
SLIMY, ooze and muck richly specied.
SUNNY days, binoculars out, this kingdom might be
AVIAN: kingfishers dive, while Whitman’s thrush warbles.

Excerpt from Whitman’s When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d:

From Whitman's poem: "In the swamp in the secluded recesses, a shy and hidden bird is warbling a song. Solitary the thrush, The hermit withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements, Sings by himself a song. Song of the bleeding throat, Death's outlet song of life, (for well dear brother I know, If though wast not granted to sing thou would'st surely die.)
Excerpt from Whitman’s When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d

Low Rent Moment

MOTEL, finally! 900 miles and a terrible burger at the end to calm the
GROWL of my queasy stomach. I lie down, check the TV. A Raquel
WELCH B movie. Hours later I wake, the burger feeling like a
TUMOR in my gut and the TV blaring: low rent moment.

Inheritance

WASTE: time, soul, life ebb out on lapsarian tide.
CRAVE more! But know: to crave is to pray.
HAUNT, o God, each time, place and quark with memory of future splendor and present grace.
YOUNG and old have only you for inheritance that is not waste.

Droit du Seigneur

GLINT in my eye, as I hear faith likened to
OPIUM again. Tired tactic, trite and worn.
WORSE: you lay claim to noetic
DROIT du seigneur: please yourself in your beliefs, ravage another’s.

Soused

URINE trickles away, yet not regret, as I lean on prickly
HEDGE. I can’t go on like this. Dizzy head craning up to sky, I find it:
NORTH star above—even drunk, I can plot the dipper’s handle.
LASSO me, Polaris, a stable place from which to change.