Jul 11, 2014

Reynolds and Midway 47

                        "Take it away, Howard." - Woody Allen's Bananas
 
On the road he was on He came to him, and he
fell, as we fell, Reynolds and me (we should say 'I'),
as if down steps or stairs, and woke up wounded.
We felt it first, a deep ache in the side, 
then black and blue, then red, then multicolored.
For hours we lay in the emergency room
with no emergent physical trauma, triaged
fairly to a bright cold room to wait.

We slept and dreamed, and this is what we dreamt:
An Ozymandias, a monument
in some imagined past or future: Desert
civilized, but prehistoric: beginning
times, wound back to start, biblical settings.
We thought of Adam and Eve, of Cain and Abel,
a populous in utero, we thought
of Noah and his kin, but not the Flood.
 
Antedeluvian, the land was young
and ripe for husbandry,    yet not rife
with throngd humanity. Entwined with these
dream thoughts, or visions, were impossible
absurdities, my chair a captain's chair,
I had the conn, commanded with my clicks,
as ages happend past my ogling eyes.
Spirk at my hand and I a James T. Cock,
 
cook of the walk and riler of the roost,
an i am i, faux tetragrammaton
in silly miniature, a puppeteer
of myriads of poor Pinocchios
(his voice is dead for three days as I write)
and meaty marionettes who span the globe
to bring the constant variety of sport—
the thrill of victory,    andthe     agon


7.11.14

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