Upon Kingfisher Wings - Letter 1 From Minimus Cast Out Into Space Praying Net Or Nest Catches
I have right to dare my feeble casting
forth, and off, of fetters, the jellies of
sin, and sally, well, if not sally, to jostle
the crowd in the bus station to purchase
my escape to spacious...what? Space,
I guess, to dream outside of who I am or
of what I have become and can see in-
ex-or-ably, ably, I hope, written in stars
or just desserts, just well-dressed guesses
derived from stormy Herald's blurting,
O winking paradisio, distant still, I take my Pound with, old cantor,
no longer cantering but for us both
I now swagger, not to stake a grand
claim in turning the race, the species
other than to what it always was, ever
will be, grandiose, verbose, polyglottal
babblers rebutting halitose Death,
how big is the universe,
how we are all so small
sings it well, That one day the book shall be written,
Odysseus come smiling through the door.
That I shall live forevermore free of provisions,
be delivered presently into good, rich life
and unto the richer world, my Lover, so long
turning turning turning in distance away from,
yet I manage a caress, a smooch which
neither dismisses nor fully embraces and
it is I that is and shall be erased into this Love
which shall then in time be erased as well
in the greater Sun and that Shining, too, shall
be erased. Then we shall all be scattered,
or I shall be only, embrace by embrace,
toward erasure no longer effortful.