Mayday 1st of Fools 3

Recalls a long and memorable walk we took together one spring day duringhard times a couple years ago, and how we were refreshed by the spectacle of nature and humanity. Joyeux anniversaire mon amour!

wind in our sails and all (once again)

Out to See what May was Doing during the Plague

we crossed the Rhine of Highland Roads just as Lewis and Clark had done so many years before [sure they did]

on the way to the Park

(sound fragments) aural mirages

a tactile pseudo-hallucination in fragmented sounds

WISTERIA MAIDEN weaving, that was the essence of poetry, walking around like this, thinking forth the birds in this lesson of DECAY

(and oh the emerald sheen interlaced through all this bullshit, like a beetle’s carapace)

the Peyote Coyote Companion so, a drugged-out wild dog

Bolt of Jove rifts

Semele’s Nervous System

paralytic bliss is frozen

on her face

fiber optics eclipsed

from the tips of its endings

(all electricity)

to bring baby Bacchus

into the Father’s Thigh (Backgound Thunder Booming on MayDay)

Sound assails, rush of cars, great barking of dogs (who thought he heard a yipping) wee slips of pups in a yard-tumble

pawing the dirt for lack of a May-Pole in all these almost flowers

thinking the flowers in the lesson of DECAY—

of the Wornness of things

the new coronation of buds,

and the crust of earth, great pizza:

still Live fr/Calcutta Kali Ma

what did you say, tho, tell me about all those old neighborhoods and how they used to be then/ the rust of the fencing/ a dilapidated house

delight as a fixer-upper to the new generations, all generations, of rat and mouse kin--

and WISTERIA sports with the spring serpent where coil meets coil

creates a revolving surface of skin and the Flower

serving the lesson of the Blossoms.

In a Kabuki dance

layer by layer was a strip-tease that never made the creature any more naked

layer by layer

set to the melancholy poem describing the many loves and losses [bound the pine to the wisteria] of a girl fettered to the heart and cycled in the flesh, encircling herself in love-letters and other flower-games of nostalgic sight-seeing in infinite buddhic cycles of reincarnation

/bound to the root

she is cursed or maybe blessed into a metamorphosis into this flowering tree,

/into the seed of its kind/

this vine,

this root-system where who a grown man pretends to be a maiden who pretends to be a tree which symbolizes a Spirit

but it’s still a tree and we can strip away the Buddhic eschatological doom in flowers.

More sights of the overcrowded of the concrete jungle

garden precincts, park privies

[ring around the maypole rage, a garlanded opening]

and notice, amid the dripping thick clutter of wisteria wicker, the smell of it

the Tree Spirit is Drunk

[the shaman gets drunk, then dances a segmented song til MANIFESTATION til he/she/it/passes out Eye Flowers]

Verge of Death

the haze is a swoon is a daze (those bright little dots)

Fainting

Seizure

Stroke

Hiatus in rupture of breath, oxygen a sudden surge of electricity causes the folds to short-circuit/ the shutoff

(no, only a game reset, game resume)

the blurred vision of the swoon

GAME OVER [you died]

Nonsense, this is SPRING BREAK only an interlude, and Green was the Theme for Lewis and Clark as they set off across the Rhine (although this was only the first ½ of their journey)

to a place where there were no more maypoles, alas, but where ravens still roosted in maples