In the Realm of Abundance
What’s the matterhorn, dewy?
Cliff’s got you down, angle-
Ward, seems like or severing –
Want a pick-me-up palimpshade?
I gi’ ya kindly, fer ample sooth.
Garish isn’t swimmin’ in these parts.
Arrant iron is singlier.
Hosen buckle chamfered
Keeps limbs from clammin’, cold-
Beakered these climbs’ll clutch,
Jackallight skirling in grame,
Chasm-hurtling yer sport, ywen.
Come now, Charley, no fan-livered
Front ever game claimed, nor
Snookered snarling grails, face
Cryin’ fright or foil, it figures.
You got kin, embroiders?
Cotton me, son, diamonds in till?
Cotton me, William Tell,
Cotton me, rather,
Palaver of orfish swell:
You got game, don’t fell.
© James Cuebas: AmerRican, Portrait of a Poet, Silkscreen, 7 1/2” X 10”
O My Coleridge, O My Cinnamon
The blade of that scullery maid
Upbraided the cascade of cover-alls
High-pinned for our pleasure to seam
The entrance to the grade of Kilter-pocks.
Sure for shin she mimmed.
A mound that sounded the surround
Of virginal echoes, it skimmed
The force-fastened gutturality,
As if haloes entranced the brae-lipids
And cooed cunningly for alder chapters.
Kif was solemn, the column torn
From siftless perfume-mantling Kammers
And redisposed to our farm-landing
To cuckoo Kashmir yearnings implicating, on.
Columns like chamfered catkins, forest
Semblables t’inspirit spirals
Of languid haste on dozy sun-swards.
The kleptic siren-pan of the didst-clear,
Brittling of kirtled copse for to
Open, of half-opening introvert reckoning,
Revealing scimitars, the haloing mound,
The hallowed trestles grassy grown,
Helped, upheld undeliverèd chromes,
Undelivered thrones of palmed delenity —
So long the sound, tun-flouted,
It passed upon our cantled surding
Up the choiced unruffled cairn
And up and up the seaming of that cress
Dispersion and the cresset crowned
To semi-light the wheeling of transparent
Choirs, titles gown-simmered in philanther bright.
It catapulted our new fires,
Th’affairs of castling slanterns
Offer chemists topping troves
Of flocks of glinting crypt-tides.
Idle scented gammy fold.
Turnup dehiscing schooled.
Guzzily, the sleighters shimmed and slipped that ring
Of flight-bestricken spindrifting.
The targe of asphodel de-flankers
Tinned a marge made clamorous,
And the bluffing blossom finely-parted,
Quellèd timorously of stance, belled ore-ward
Of the clefting and the scrying,
And the lifted fling-flung, of the speed
Now garrulous, now quiet chambers, of the run
Now sun-drenched kiss-me-caromed, kae thee
Nipped, now steeped, now crinolined
In drum-guyed plum-hale of that salty clippered keep,
That keep, the lovely keep, the sun-meshed keep.
Just Me and My Tune-Box
It was a Gadsden Purchase of the mind,
Swimming my way to you Diotima.
Hart on loan? Snare it, with one thick
Swap disingenuous.
And why not? There you are
In your flimsy top, mawnin’.
Does anyone realize how much
Facility to calm the banns goes
Unnourish’d, unadmonish’d?
The trust of turtlin’ coveys
Transferr’d to lands untarnish’d,
Six-year-old bath play with dripping
Ariadnes, ivory cymbal’d, a squinching
Of the inner tubes for cycle clatter.
Maria Tipo, tupping the chromatic
And symptomatic plum-drops, how
Pass’d by, possible to seam unnotic’d?
Mozart’s roses can catch fireflies
In daylight rambles ’cross cilia.
There is no niftiness no-where sass’d
Like crumbling tinterdells,
Cascade shading the swoosh,
Lordly in lariat prick-tails:
Loverly the prompted petals
Of those arpeggios and pick-pocks
Poaching the cat-stirred chimes.