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From brush or Ecole
one's dervish, another's monk
boorish or abo (boorish to say it so)
downcast, anion, positive perhaps
laden with some of life, at least sometimes
From asthma to self-introduced antigen
suffering solicitude or gathering at the cognac gallery
idefinite fragmentation; this here, someone there
they may sing chantey or song of yin
but basophilic at their core now, whether deferring; never acknowledging the shift,
centum-like, or i
whether they clomp into it and not belate
cartographic concerns need not concern us
It doesn't take much to demystify. Womenfolk or menfolk,
the warriors will wind up in our arlington or yours.

-- posted for Mary

Once again, our friends in the drug distribution business are always willing to help us along in our project!;-)

Here are some market fresh words from a Viagra ad:


supplicate thermal lay max sheen accelerate carney loudspeak trailhead guffaw laze chinook creon starch meritorious privilege feint off cautionary vouchsafe cranky mothball steer martyr airspeed jitterbugging rangeland doberman luminescent familiarly flown picnicking duct eastern rebelled bianco chestnut here tonic premeditate angus stood smokehouse luxury obese bayonet counterbalance reclamation ineffable clubroom demitted mange carburetor tact enter pierson twentieth miscellany operon angry carnal drake cosmopolitan wasteland industry charge initial cowgirl impugn soft meetinghouse covert reindeer subsume rend chateaux bicep women drastic cramer bookish horticulture amalgam ambrosia averred thomas supercilious bride cheetah encroach case artie slovakia brim wove chilblain decompile abridgment postpone scoundrel visual classmate hath airstrip turnoff barbarism impeccable resumption determinant

Shaken Tree
for H.C, C.C. and J.C.


The house by the eroding shore—
The house The Almost-Architect lived in—
The house The Domineering Diabetic lived in—
The house The Fashion Plate Old Maid lived in—
The dilapidated house on 1st Avenue—
I knew the house in all the ways
The Family named it—
but you called it
simply
The House.

You and she were the
jitterbugging martyrs
living to care for
The Domineering Diabetic.
(who The Family also named
The Cow and sometimes The Mountain)
At least that was The Legend
I was told in1966.

I hope the mange shared
in The Family’s
ad hoc meeting rooms
never spread past those covert
Doberman’s kennels
to your bright
little
chateaux by Savin Rock.

I couldn’t have known
while drinking
Foxen Park diet birch beer
with your mother
and creating painted
water marks on
the rangeland of her
bianco #12 paper,
that I would belong to
that luminescent clubroom
where all bookish brides
and all ineffable drakes choose to live—

I couldn’t have known that
I might one day become
the resumption of The Family
Folklore, supplicating
your description of
The Almost-Architect
with one of
The Obese Cheetah
or The Cosmopolitan Cowgirl
who offered no visual privilege
to anyone
in cranky rebellion
of The Family’s
Northeastern barbarism.

There we will be—immortal—
all of us,
shaken from our tree—
four chestnuts woven together.

Cartographic Memory
for T. L.

Here still in the underbrush of
a Feng Shui laden summer,
I recall you then:Yin--
a young
--mother--
you deferred littleYang’s asthma
with a gallery of antigens
and exclusive attentiveness
He –
now:
a wheezing dragon amongst
menfolk clomping
through the resources
of womenfolk core
like a basophilic
quake fragmenting
Arlington National Cemetery
with its spray of
fire and phlegm octane
little Yang’s father ( _The_Yang_ )
perennially
commingled with
dervishes of cognac and solicitude—
Then: now
there are those of us
amongst your
second Yin cousins
still too boorish
to interpret the
ancient map
drawn before
us
where the site of
_The_Yang_'s_
--Young--Yin--
subjugated
all rank ,
all place,
all direction
to _Little_Yang_
the magical man-child: the beggar boy-citizen
--You both now—
Yin Mother: still with: Yang Son
Speak

Demystify:Me

Black and White

You walk into my life; a demigod,
a chanting dervish with a crooked smile,
a boorish sort of man, a pompous prig.

You! Prefer your solitude to laden quarrels,
hiding behind French cognac, and
fine cigars.

You defer the indefinite you and I,
for confrontations you deplore.

Instead, you prefer to hang our fragmented
souls in a hidden gallery of black, and white;
in the deep recesses of your psyche.

Unsuspecting, you clomp, and whittle at the
protective underbrush of my downcast heart,
with heavy boots.

You stand amongst the men folk with
a pretentious smirk of victory…
across your face.

And I stand mystified… with aching heart.