Under twirling bivalve helicopters     the winking lariat
of neon rhododendron     I was happy & fickle
with lust     & to join the other buried men
while leaves redden in the growing cold
bold as love     here there is no lament
among persisting branches     what is this revolving
around a bent pole     somewhat     ever-fixèd
and broken again     (compost perennial?)

Tell me Berrigan     Berryman     headed
down smiling in the river of ashes, tell me
(frail wasp-punts in the bloodstream
pulse with hunger     a pulverized poor bean-
scramble)     o.k.     they say     maybe
she's your aerial laurel     singing in the streambed

Henry Gould | Island Road 5
Contents | Mudlark No. 6