Saturday, January 17, 2009

Ethereal Beauty #70

Dandelion parachutes from a lost plain
Float through the sun. I always jumped
Whenever that white-haired extortionist uttered the Word.
I need a rainbarrel full of prune juice in a single gulp.

Leaves are all falling this Mayday parade,
Land and curl like a minute divestiture
Cancelling every airy whorl furling,
Cancelling magic. I pull hare clumps from longjohns,
Paste them like a furrier mustache
Bookmarking First Corinthians where wives wait in the wings
For bully Paul to balm glassy eyes with a confetti of sawdust.

Folly of oracle, silence becoming, apes with tapered tongues,
I bequeath my ill-formed malice, chagrined
With biblical signposts, more and more unambiguous
To the colder apposite, sign of the times, sign of my cross.

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