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I took my brush and pens
A light box easel upon my back
And went into-
The proverbial woods to acquire
Platitudinal wisdom, well polished
In holy transcendence a slackery
Against that rough backdrop
Shiny words, words' committees
Drowned in drama -
never extolled true classical.
Hackneyed to pieces
Blinded in filtered light
Poke a leaf, startle a squirrel
Point a dripping brush:
Your warrens are mine to metaphorize.
Paint the river brackish
Watercolors soft as a dream
Adumberate without rhythm
My foolish head Which thoughts and thoughtlessness-
In all its folly said:
Modern reflections
Too much in very little
Grotestry be damned.
Damned is very beautiful.
And afternoon passes in insolence
Until the moon in conjecture muses
I have many fears- Worst of them I should fall.
Imagine the scattering of silver
All the wild men and that divine madness:
All the conquer and capture!
Old as hysteria.
So my soul hovered
And trailed behind
My fleshly person
Hoping- in the silvery dark:
Shy and blushing violently-
That my black pen
Wouldn't mar his robes
The color of blank-
Canvas.
------
The conscious shape reality.
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I was young
