Homage to Homage

Penumbra’s a conundrum,
conundrum is penumbra.
An umbrella’s humdrum–

an elision. Humdrum
as a striking out, elision.
There is no dearth

of little forks.
To fashion a remedy,
a remedy of friction,

Townsend’s big-eared bat
and pallid bat, and pallid bat
and pallid bat.

A mighty swat, a balk.
A leaking out about a tank.
O big-eared bat,

a drumming strike,
a remedy of little dearth.
There is no humdrum

remedy, pallid as and is.
Penumbra is a leaking out,
a lightwave, umbrella-ed about.

Of homage to elision,
there’s no dearth.
Conundrum is a little balk.

Inevitable Colonials

The husband as thesaurus,
menacing and dull,
a sigh in everything she says.

Change Your Chicken cries a sign,
the March air glowering, a chill
above the river, over boathouses.

The Gravedigger’s Ball goes on
as a banner going on
a metal fence in Philadelphia

across from the museum of
rocks, the most practical form
of jewelry. Take the rock

he gave her, talking rock.
It said (like the little triangular sign
stuck into a lemon

in Frida Kahlo’s visiting still life)
I belong to a dentist
menacing and dull, with teeth

on his shingle, teeth on the shutters
of his colonial. It said We have
the luxury of eating

thoughtlessly. It said You cannot
touch or even ask me
for the time of day

or direction out of where
a parkway of thin trees can’t hide
the view of the highway.

The road to their facility:
speed limit 27, gated entry,
identical windows, rhododendron,

the only change a change
of chicken, the only hazards
on the heart’s clipped courses.

Copyright the author(s) ©2007–2014