If I were King, I'd put my alms across
your soul     Let go the superflux!
No more hung-up     long-drawn & hamleted
in quarters very-locked     bombed-out

Is Kosmos then     cut to the waistline of our gluttony?
(Yundt walks past the coffeeshop.) Can we
afford the theater in Dallas? Or was
the UNION all in vain, alas [etc.]?

Crowds of trenchcoats going by...     the Father
of his Country, greenish-faced, on magic carpet
in the sky...     & the sea     like a mother     rose
in my heart.     Small ring in his palm, the courtier
boned the envelope     with wax of paternity     &
like ALMA     rather than Mammon, chose     eternity


Henry Gould | Island Road 33
Contents | Mudlark No. 6