ThE GreaT RotaTioN
1
The blue and green,
revolving
and changing shape,
spinning in black
the lagoon
and stars,
ThE RoaD, ahead
new beginning
from spiralings, behind
in the negative
cycle,
and the nothing that was
out of Crispin self
that sea,
turning
tumbling figure, through the reeds
ThE GreaT RotaTioN,
the myth
of the leaves
that SPacE from distance,
to ClaP oF HandS
diamonded or striped
handprint
or shard
that Achilles was there
2
to—, stop!
Seen in the light, glancing,
height!
from leaf fallen, dance
into flash
each year— day
round, moment
CrisPiN Mind.
puzzle piece
the idea, arriving
in shapes
passing,
elliptic
flung notion
‘round the sun
shadow
shading
stripped down shape,
line and color
The TargeT .
Achilles fancied
death, death
whispering— tween,
OH! Thou Orb,
Aloft!
3
vital force
to keep—
Sunflower self and
song along the road,
the order— found strewn
revolving through, black and white
and green
and sky
and blue remembered hill
over and around, turning
the swirl,
in nebulae
the sacred pause
and second thought
that tree at the center
blank
in the eye
seeing,
the forest, self
burning forest fire dead bark beetle woods
HE WAS REACHING ACROss AmericA
American Pilgrim,
PoP PilGriM
some PoP, EpiC pOp—
The MorninG
4
always came incredibly
the order,
spinning into a poetry
the landscape rolling
Jack hoped he’d never tire of those clouds
ReducE and RadicalizE,
JumPing OuT.
imaginative height—
a history of jumps
that bush, to mountain,
the crickets
Crispin warned off—
an end
was in each moment
passing
in the leaf falling yellow
there was irony enough
tearing at hope,
coming around
the green rolling
beautiful CeRuLean shape,
gobbling him up
the fear, the fear
the bottles spilling, breaking
in slow motion
5
He—RO, Ho!
through flowers,
the IndiaN GlinT
turning and returning
cyclical revolutions
rotations
of day and night,
going round, back and forth
and round
rocking, hatched marks
into stars and dreams
same bare feet
kicking, suspended
over smooth flowing
water reverie
space, that distance
head over heels
this RealitY, ShieLD now
chugging along, horizonal
lonesome road
stumble bum
sage and boney words
He He HO! Ro!
wave after wave
out there
6
tail flickering—
feathered friend leading
bright speckled thing
wriggling
the luxuriant
dripping green
August leaves rushing
escape from that linear
jump into
the stars, thrown across the floor
patching a Hero’s head,
HooBLA Hoo Hoo— Ru
it all went round
tumbling childlike
made it all up,
Jack’s GReeN home
the monster’s mouth, “as if”
FlOWeR MountAiN
Serpent and flowerR
seething in the grass
the waves
written over
and then again
snaking river
flags, waving
7
World Mountain
alive, to Crispin
though Jack would rush
to see each day,
we were still— alive—
a quiet, spot of a revolving Earth
breathing in
breathing
the flower
imaginative peaking
Crispin lifting his all too human arms
in the attitude of prayer,
some awe
in the feeling of
ONE
swallow winging in blue
chirp
tree surging, parts
upward and around,
one who sees this
“No saben el camino”
consuming chaos
not yet hardened —
only in passing
breathing in and out
8
day lilly, one each day
each a big bang and
A Flower’s idea.
the moon the stars dissolve
breathing Crispin figure.
HerO AchilleS
Jack wondering there
WalkinG STICK AFLAME
HAT OF SOLAR CONSEQUENCE
SHOES OF QUICKENING POWER
WALKING IN REALITY
sensing a shape
that removed her to the stars,
Nodded in that way,
