WHO RUES
MELCHISEDEK?
(I was walking with this God)
The white pants and the rain God,
all those magnificent things parading
down. 'I am King of Gods, mistaken
notion, keeper of ideal flames.' Spoken
like a boast, I could only think of
Patty Miles. 'But you are not, sir,
and all, all of this, is mistaken. So
let me take this peasant pomp you
proffer and run away with it, right
through your nose, in fact.'
-
And just then, right along Girard Ave.,
the Philadelphia streetcar clanged and
rattled. Some ten black fats got off
as one - 'You are, myself, I see, one
of these. Are you not, then?' He tried
taking my hand; he said 'Let us be off
now, and to the kennels. Let us buy
ourselves a dog!' Approbation.
Infatuation. Circulation.
-
Just below the street-level fence, cut
out from where I was, I saw the rails of
the old cemetery graveyard fence jutting
out - all those dead and quiet people,
oh all those dead and quiet people.
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