63   Henry's Siege of Moscow

At least 2 weeks have passed     without a call, &
I'm ready to disappear     into my dream,
set out on awful pilgrimage,     carol
through a mannered wilderness (or some such scheme).

A soused Paul Bunyan     lost at Mardi Gras
pursues your     motionless     & green-eyed mountain--
stomping     so Superior     in far-gone car
while black-ice brows re-hearse     Napoleon.

My shoulders ache     with so much borrowed bliss,
& rival horns     & slanderous esteem
& seething Time     would scatter all of this--til
beat-up silver     swings the pendulum--

your glancing silence penetrates     so far,
I'm roused from sleep     wondering     where we are

Henry Gould | Island Road 64
Contents | Mudlark No. 6