Distracted by a flicker, brutishly I burrowed
under the thickset arboreal pathway, forward through,
not needing a Virgil
Whereby, I found myself subdued and lowered
my angel body, knelt upon the gathering scrag,
with knees upon the well curb, my two soles
Watching my back, I feel the frosty shade
Safer now, I may close my shamed eyes
And I know why others have come too.
I reach right into my hip pocket,
making a tiny discomfit chime,
half-expecting the birds to flap.
I take out the three pennies
used for the i-Ching,
fingering the Nineteen eighty-four first,
it sits in the color of old adobe
streaked in rain grime.
I toss it into the blackness that is not
Empty nor dry
and I wait, waiting, listening, breathing,
hearing nothing...
The next one picks up the red in the sun and
glows facing its prospect of good conduct-
Two thousand and one
sided History, the honest man does not smile
I let it go as impersonal,
It falls quickly
I lean in
this time
and I don’t hear it hit
gulping back it was swallowed hole.
I never wished.
The last one left, I save for a
second thought, more
about splashless wishes
for Change.
Painting by Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Painting by Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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