CANTO 56 The poet behind these flimsy masks
T
he poet behind these flimsy masks sometimes stepsout and lets us have it, as much as we can stand.
His thoughts careen, carom, or clump across
many fields, he’s an inter-undisciplinary expert.
His Leviathan sentences like ice-blue whales
nudge iceberg paragraphs of their ponderous prose.
Flurries of his immediate beget squalling
existential infants with dirty-diaper-tire-tracks
turning into ruts where hot-breathed
Calvinist cars skid along Euclidean lines.
He’s got Albigensian aborigines snowed by Thomist sophists
turning into albino abbots reading reams of Lil Abner
in the Albany library.
His snowbound neo-platonists lug samsonite agonistes
and quote Hermes Trismegistus
while Newtonian warlords wind up winter storm watches!
Yeah did ya ever read a celestial mechanix illustrated?
Yeah did ya ever scrape your knuckles on a
lunar crescent wrench lunar crescent wrench
crescent wrench crescent wrench
do-it yourself crescent wrench
to get the universal Edsel running right?