3696. DEATH AND SUBTERFUGE

DEATH AND SUBTERFUGE

(near Sudbury, PA)

This is a long black coat and man inside it,

walking steadfastly across a burning horizon.

It is so hot, because of fire, because of flames,

that the man is profusely sweating, near to faint;

yet he cannot remove the jacket because his hands

are tied. He is being walked to the location of his death.

-

This is sex and violence of the purest sort; the kind

of sex that only big money buys, the kind of pain that

reaches  -  at its far end  -  a pure, black despair.

-

I have cheerio'd your lariat, I have edelwiess'd

your defamation. The water in the pool had

turned to fire, something crazed and boiling,

like a Hell on Earth. Walking on water, (message

to whomever) would only burn the feet.

-

Someone wanted to know about writing poetry:

'How do you twist those words, mix things over,

come up with all those weird juxtapositions?'

I said I did nothing of the sort, didn't know

if I did it then how I did it, and asked the

person to quietly leave. I wanted no more

of this. We agreed to disagree, and

then both realized we didn't.

-

Here's my new footnote, to end all

this: I was driving down a purloined lane,

came across a boulder marked with a

painted arrow. It led me to a historic

plaque stating that 'on this site, some

75 Native Algonquin were slaughtered

at a lunch held for them by Major Jacob

(Jack) Rivington, in 1771.' I swear that

I really just don't know, know really

nothing about this at all.