Our Town

Part 1
Revenge of the Fog People


Dead celebrities
actuate events;

Lisa does not seem to love the rain
as much as I who longs for gloomy days:

Captain Shadow on the Ether's edge
Mangoes Fittipaldi cries the hanging chef
proudly bone a-witherin,

as to the void without gravity
whither we will
like a whipperwill blink strenuously
in the long night
after the invention of rubbish.
So much for frail boys:
Poor Henry --
dour grandparents
in somber dreams
sprawled naked still
even though she'd be gone awhile
hanging on Beale St till dawn
leedward the wind to the river.

How why the reasons
the god spies creed
while we wait for the harsh tirade
of an old parlour.

Henry speculates,
toying with worms.

You might say
reclined upon such lusters
even if it's only steel walls
or a goddess bathing on the edge of a stream:

"Mama, I cozen Jesus
in that old stump."

Markers of a sort--
waystations
with snorting beasts
aside a snow covered cottage
where candles burn inside.

A menagerie of strange dies, Mastuh,
Tyre in the hot summer
your laughter like a whip
mandrake hanging by rope on a rolling cart
foun way~

an old track
an old cave
in the woods above Galloway
and boys imagining,

Someway this side of a westside story
another diplomat busted for a wet nose,
marks time with the flickering of a cat's tail
and snuff the ache of some old groan
amended some.

Left in steerage
autoneumatic,
stuck in null grav
the ampitheatre slowly filling
Charles waiting burrowed in mull
muted at the river's edge,

Henry wishes;
say they just gave up
the odd nuclei
spinning in the globe
a frantic butterfly:
another Fall, Henry spies
coffee warm in his lap.

Said the Voice in the spin,
here me in the fringe
where the forest begins
Sirens through the partied trees;
Henry on the wallow
a twitching cat's whisper--

still only slightly chill
not yet such a white walk
into the very still.

A very short way from the bridge
is a broken column
haven of ghosts tis said
it was writ that way fate
wrote the vortex
swirling in hi-def
Jacob throwing death
and Death's cold smirk.

How swift the crane
does sweep
whirring the gears
withering the constriction -

"she had my mother's eyes"
said the suitor
marked by the soft flicker of the candle
as though the Novel burst
and left some briars behind.

Then, in the flight of the arrow
and so forth with fevered mein
a little less deep, perhaps,
who sweet animate
children about hip to the movement
culled from light
souls in escrow--
Henry in the throes of listless woe
praying on each of the hard steps,
at the supper say
as the expectation is satisfied:
a wolf safe with a carcass.
How weary the minstral
leering at the morning pastes,
a shroud of dyes
disguising their bland flesh.

At least that's what he thought
when he tried to tell the story,

the castle ladies weaving
careless with breath,
leaves that tap against the upper window,
a bit of the grail
the adventures of a loyal rogue
who sews the tales into song-

the god is making new soliders
another realm.  Apropos.
Another old man
hanging around till the Emperor's death.

A witless witness, M'lady,
as the accused must know,
That: in the exact wording
a mage mao
mostly dirt & water
that chaste white tile
in the bathroom should be brown.

The waitress lost her hairdresser
late in middle life
though she stayed in the neighborhood,
she had a ragtime
a shrine,
a closet to hang dark things
a placenta more or less
oh, say-was this way, M'am,
down on the lawn near the grass.

As to the goods, Charly,
they come from elsewhere
Everywhere that closed the song
that was crosswised
from the start;
not that they possessed the wit
infundway out
how sometimes the weariness slides in
scarcely beaten
old bones lying in the barn.

That new dog
would have you change your ways-
Misc collection
the needliest transcription of medication,
"A full Measure, Iago?"
Construction is the enemy of art.

The new hand held heart
several days in the sun
outlines the scar
the clock ticking
the drool in the sunset;
the lamp gloating.

The channels are shallow
said the swallow
sitting flapwise in the road
a madness you should know,
should, she said --

...that sees Marie
days later
a cathedral in the mosaic
where eyes too are stilled,
begins with Steven
being dragged into the depths
days later when the coracle drifts in blue.
A tier in the scheme.
Hey-O! Distant Jupiter blurred
beholden to my selfish sky
says the sheriff
sunk in white shadows
breath like whalefish drying.

So the white horse rued his dying,
and so, since this is so
we backlight the stage:
a poor peasant
barking into the glare
given over in marriage
a fair offer for magic beans
a small burn to leave a tiny scar.
Another stroll across the lawn
something amiss among the blossoms
something crawling on four limbs
groveling
under the rumble of the El
now mundane
wreathed about with studied import;
the wreckage of old steel,
another carcass
or smooth Helen
on the page,

father is fine despite the tremors.

You said, "Do You mean now?"
in response --
an inqueery into time
cat upon the piano
as if the jazz were not already broken
a skip in the smoke;

The arms dealer surveys with glee
the armor
that Atilla views as an impediment
mute for the most part
charting Henry
swelling with heroes
he's thinking of sledding again.

Wednesday at the holy rollers
shots to kill some time,

"I wonder if my evil Art
has raised the beast?"

The City has balanced its books this year,

its said.