The branch of stream and law entwines
lost rail to the stars and back again
while the dandelion sits on a weed.
Joyous supernal it sits on a weed
A long ride over forgotten roads in the
crisp kilowatts of radios alone in the night, the
tracks on Vortex plains erased by gentle snow
like upon the magic board I drew in school
The radar screen longs for blind events
like towns alone in their night frost
snow and wind streaks across the pavement
showing sudden ghosts of fabled lizards
O Gypsy Moth around my lampshade
what dims the light beyond the door
and twists trees reaching to the sky
and down again into their own ring of years?
In a month the moon repeats its fundamental note
involuntary stomachs drift to Venus
she repeats hers and within the newborn
yet another aspect opens
Hungry wolves know the snow. And I'm
home to unwind the mummy roll by roll
a part of me, an edge I cannot peer beyond,
a hidden angle, a side I cannot see
In the corner the spider weaves haphazardly
forgetting the first part of the spiral
tired perhaps, of the trembling fly
in a forgotten filling station in Kansas.
THE FRISCO KID, 1963 | Charles Plymell Photo | Six by Charles Plymell at "Room Temperature" | SPEW ALLEY at "Room Temperature" | Catfish McDaris Interviews Charles Plymell at "Room Temperature"| Four Songs Charles Plymell at Poets On the Line #1 | Interview with Charles Plymell by Dave Sellitto Poets on the Line #2