Glass


Oh, five brothers
two sisters
And a jet-line, leaving the airport
weary
stream of consciousness;
building the gap-toothed History/
a Tuckahoe homemaker
lover of the And, but not Included To:
Arts(and the many patrons who follow,
whether a persistent jesuit, or one of the
No-knowledge, zen-stricken philosophers, who,
upon indulgence, is more aptly known only as
a Lover of Himself)and the real-time glory of a reel, pegged one still after another
capturing the effervescent glory of a day, unraveling the Virgin deity;
her petals far-stretched and coy, stretching beyond the limits
of dye, who urge its demanding plight to the back of a carboncopy image--
his face embossed, nomore noless than 1918 and the memories--
the face-a soldier, forlorn, mounting his deadego love for a
monarchy-driven philosophy that marks not word, but the silent moving of
the lips, told by Jabez; if i believed it then i would have left that
Yellow-crested palace hoisted to the short of Figgy's back
leggings undone, bare-breasted, riding alongside the cavalry
headed into the falling, gracious descent of 1919 and the moving
of lips silence invokes(and you ask her if she wanted
to see his face, lively, passive, stern and unresolved:she did)