Friday, April 01, 2011

To Doubt

A Wall


Pretty soon the dud
recompense of a formula
declares itself and is
avail’d of. The rest
is just the bric-
a-brac of whatever
dependency urges up one’s
brio, or whatever urgency
descends down out of
the sky-fill’d sky.
Phenomenally tumid doubt pricks
the mild audacity of
a hint of quince-
smell tender’d by breezes
arriving “out of nowhere”—
meaning a privet hedge
in a suburb of
Tangiers, or a hedge
fund manager’s motel mini-
fridge, or a Malagasy
boy’s shout of Maloto
ny rano!
down a
corridor made by swim-
gear and kayaks dump’d
near the boat landing.
The water is dirty
and the tour sponsor
ought to be notify’d,
though somebody sign’d papers
forfeiting any compensation for
foul-ups resulting out
of irrepressible acts of
God, or His cohort.
That list is endless.

Tom o’ Bedlam