71 Henry's Very Little Testament
"The morning sky was like a robin's egg,
& winter sun was burnished gold & jovial..."
--my many-colored kodak zigzags here to
abridge this dicey coda (sad confessional).
Your eyes that mourn for every buried man,
your arguments that peirce authority,
with palmseed rays begin what you began
in palmy days-- the sceptred lie's decay.
O dearest dogwood, sheepish sliver mine,
your subway token's trained for Jubilee--
one handmaid's handmade hobo trampoline
that [aggregated naughty admirals] will never see.
To them--my iced cremains at Sutton Hoo. &
all my unremaindered hands--post-humorously--to you.
Henry Gould | Island Road 72
Contents | Mudlark No. 6