hope without restraint
perhaps in a
radical socialist understudy
in tragic cold sweater
distributing clean-cut weeping leaflets
to soft toothed cogs
or
lake-eyed wool wrapper
theologist
mollycoddling lifeless symbols
to increase the trade-in price
at night
he goes ten-pin bowling
together with his share of
breath
and yields fierce suns
from ectogoo

--

Be he gone now?
There he’s walking
And barely stirring the dust
As a tree that has forgotten
His truthful leafyness and
Can only witness the
Fleeting of his blossoms
I see him
The eyes-wandering student in Echer’s temples
Bright and youthful at his idols
A son of Yahweh
Burning down Zion
Pull the breath of gasoline
I wove him wings of laurel
Revolved the planets in his throat
And stalked
the tower in his bare white belly
But he must go
Seek the catalyst in the horizon
To melt with it
To Europe
Pluto
Mexigone
The symbol runner falls now
The curtain tumbles on the sickly strong king
But from every ivory lonely day from now—
What a long and glorious way from tomorrow!
I rest within his lungs
And I will know
When his boy awakes
And when his machines
Are finally covered in snow