Before time begins, Time reaching way back,
Kicks his foot high over his head as if
He was Juan Marichal having a good day
At Candlestick Park. Whipping his hand forward,
Walloping his foot down, his hard throw
Sends God tummulting through space
Desperately creating itself ahead of Him.
Barry Gifford said there are
No birds in Hell. Plainly
He’s never been there
Around 3 o’clock
On a Friday afternoon.
My green Buddha, who is almost
Five-eighths of an inch tall, is considering
Taking the place of his 180 foot tall brother
Who was destroyed in 2001.
"I will sit up very straight," he says.
Abundance left hastily,
Rolling off in her chariot
Just before she could be arrested.
An old peasant woman
Plods along, quietly cursing
Every stone in the road.
She carries Abundance's luggage --
A bundle, balanced on her head,
And a small basket.
Although he's politely translated the Ten Commandments
Into Dutch only one person -- a woman
Holding a tureen the same green shade
As her blouse -- is glancing at them. Otherwise,
The huge crowd is dreaming,
Chatting, joking, balancing vases
On their heads or looking out at us
Thinking "Well, you're not reading the words either,
Are you?" Also, a quiet satyr has slipped in
Wearing a laurel wreath in his hair.
For Rembrandt's engraving of Death
Rising From The Grave To Greet
A Newlywed Couple, Death posed
For almost seven hours and was
So exhausted when it was finished that he
Drained the cup of wine he was holding,
Waved a vague blessing and fell asleep.
The moon is, of course,
A lifeless, spinning stone
But also of course
An old woman whose feet
Get tired, a rabbit
With a mortar and pestle
And a lantern Osiris
Hangs from a nail
Sobek pounded into the sky.
