CANTO 9 A six-ton Diamond T

 

A six-ton Diamond T sanitation truck

may not be a greater vehicle or even a lesser

but it’s all I’ve got!

There’s a devil of a roar—

the exhaust system’s fried, the floorboards shake

the drive-train chatters and the universals

are out of joint with the particulars—

but look out there where all around light

pulsates in the sky—and yet darkness

closing in—in the mirror I see a streaming trail

of the Unrecycled:

Handi-Wrap and Lucky-Charms boxes

junked bluejeans and aluminum beer-cans

hosts of clotted band-aids

balled-up BlueBonnet margarine wrappers

rusted Whirlpool clothes dryers

clusters of coruscating broken glass

soiled Pamper disposable diapers

styrofoam sandwich boxes

brown-stained Marlboro butts

Peanut Buster parfait cups

two-percent milk cartons

stained Restonic Early Rest De Luxe mattresses

wrappers of Bird’s Eye frozen peas

limp Nike Sonic Flight Sheer Force shoes

burnt smoked brats

oozing discarded oil filters

sagging Queen Sofa sleepers

busted La-Z-Boy recliners

spent cans of charcoal lighter

rusted-out rotisseries

seamless gutters paper plates stained

with baked beans

twisted bicycle wheels

frayed brassieres

FloridaGold concentrated orange juice containers

shot shorts stripped roofing

American Singles pasteurized process

cheese food wrappers

Ultra Yes detergent plus fabric softener bottles

Weight Watchers Smart Ones

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

my mortal constipated

load of selfhood pulling me down—

I must purify, purge, cleanse, ascend, aloft, orbit—

great mysteries await on the path—

look, I’m dropping, I’m going to hit the water—

if only I could’ve made it to the Zenitary land-fill—

I’ve hit! settling and sinking, but I don’t feel afraid!

Hey, there’s a Turtle with a ring around its neck,

it’s paddling to where the hood ornament used to be—

 

All glowing and settling in the oceanic horatio algae.

Ah, how the hastily arranged

commercialized molecules of mankind,

the aerosol additive frenzy

of saturated pollyanna prohibitions,

inflate food and drug orgasms of solitude!

 

Yes this Diamond T

with the Turtle on the hood

is lifting now, emerging in a wash of petroleum slicks—

no panic—the salt water draining out of my ears

and the trash all washed out in a compassionate sea.

The Valley Sanitation truck my raft

aglow now in a phosphor haze—

as I blow the horn the glove compartment opens—

where water ripples off the dash

trembling polyps appear.

An octopus slithers out of the glove box—

it lolls on my knees holding a metal plate

in an extended tentacle!

How erotic the suckers on my soaking thighs.

The plate is inscribed, I’ve got it, listen to this:

 

When the T of the Diamond

meets the Ring of the Turtle

Being and Non-being meet

independent of the perception of the passengers.

 

On the back it says:

Schumann Resonance.

brain waves

whose frequency parallels

solar-generated frequencies

whose wave-length equals

the circumference of the earth!