HANS

First new poem since I lost all my verse in a hard drive crash. This image is by my fabulous friend KAth Boake. It isn’t meant to illustrate the poem, I just like it and it’s new too.

HANS

Under the bridge a blanket rests,

Knave rising, tapping to a bush beat.

Static fussy, hearing reproach in birdsong,

Flak in the bending willows

He may see through concrete

But do not call him clairvoyant or infrared.

Merely tenacious, tenacious is he,

Tenacious as the wildlife

Lured

From the ribbon of road

To flail

Against the vortex of personality.

All furious downhill from here.

Bloodstream

Engulfing triumph

One drop at a time.

I paid the toll.

Where is my protection? Favor.

Boat. Deliverance. Red tulip.

Simmer you, still. Still no loosening

Of your grip around our lovely, long Jane Doe necks.

Confinement has not freed

Nor contemplation illumined.

Are we not macerated into mash,

Pulp enough for paper? Fiction. Fusion

Of forms so 21st century, so now,

So damned imperative.

We aren’t about to quit abeyance, balking,

Irrupting or being pricks. Hiding, stalking, preying

upon squirts. Being obsolete. Polysyllable.

Anemic. Let it leak. Glow. Gush around your finger

in the hole. All the time in the world.

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