A BOOK OF FOLKLORE (Running River)


All this is patchwork’s weakling word,
come pick, go pick its moving art;
a glacier and an ice-pack plunge
indolent candy bars flight flunk,
rise on to the occasion
with the moon to
flank some
patience.

This land is my land, it should
be your land…

Distinguishing copper stone and ore,
come yours, come mine its ancient core;
an oyster and a clam amazed – first
came the day and then the dazed –
to occupy plantations
with granite to
rank the
masons.

This sculpture (bare) planned this,
this statuette West Bend…

What happens ‘s in the center,
cause my left hand
will not lend.

M.J.C.A. 07-14-2006