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