Wednesday, February 13, 2008

A Toy Engine

A Wall (Cap and Nail)

Here a lack
Of assemblage, a
Measure of off-

Hand wheedling asserts
Itself, and one
Tromps the ochre

Earth in clay’d
Up boots, or
Snow-laced sneakers,

Making tracks for
The distant instantaneous,
Yeah. New music’s

Disagreably whack vigor,
Quel jeux. If
A thing gels

Up florid, rid
It of its
Formal trance leaf-

Letting with haw-
Spittle, drool, or
A brick. Pool

Desires together, or
Heap one’s disgust
In a mound,

An autochthonous bump
Or box label’d
Mio caro canonico,

Surreptitious, syrup’d, sapped.
Recontext a puissant
Insobriety, dash off

Mark’d insolences, caulk-
Gun one’s plow-
Boy flibbertigibbits. Try

To make lines
Conflate a motor-
Mouth’d inexhaustible sluice-

Dipping (desert clime)
With a Tipperary-
Yen, a chary

Soul-ambuscading wench-
Abductress authenticity adequate
To the time.

Do it eagerly.
Accuse with precise
Dollops of mawk

And haemorrhage. A
Repertoire that yields
When struck or

Stuck in committee,
That log-rolling choir.
My only practice

Is the va
Et vient
In quire inventories,

Meddlesome ledgers of
Sleight of hand
Men, or my

Train jumps whatever
Track it’s laid
Down, and spares

The hog-tied
Damsel who balances
Nape and heel

Against the rails
In a japery
Of truth, or

Shrieks “alack” or
“Alas” through a
Handkerchief knot’d with

Artless negligence and
Reft, or my
Name isn’t Lionel.

Man Log-Rolling with Pole, c. 1925