The Iron Pastoral

The Iron Pastoral

The Iron Pastoral

The Iron Pastoral

Excerpt

Green drizzle day, the soft erotic weather.
I wandered, angel in the clouds of thought
With Plato's opal metaphor of cities
And Aristotle's fairyland precision,
Debated fortune, circumstance--when zowie
That waitress in the tavern brought me down.

Tiara lace on tassel of gold hair,
Trim-breasted, crescent-thighed, and tulip-ankled,
Eye robin's-egg, impertinent moist lip,
Finger that brushed my finger on the winelist--

Space whistled in the gyroscopic room;
Philosophy like wrens in panic scattered.

Hours later, Greek,
I knew your pathei mathos, victim's knowledge:
Effeminate man, his eunuch mind caressing,
Plans all and nothing anvils. Dream's a drifter,
Begets the blood-and-sex-devoid abstraction,
Thought's elegant pansy lisping in the brain,
Theory that has no iron hands to grapple,
Or, less than brute, the fire and iron thorax.

Artist with fiji hair gets inspiration--
The chips of marble thigh like bullets sizzle
Until in shop or plaster gallery goggles . . .

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