What is it that makes it go? It must be

What is it that makes it go? It must be

What is it that makes it go? It must be

Beyond conjecture, it must stand alone,

An image, trust that it does. It must be

Beyond the Supreme Fiction, yet the girl,

As though in the brack of Dublin bay, a lament pure though.

It may be the chalked red dust in the air

Kissing the white paint on the sailor's hat,

It may be butterfly wings that go wung wung,

Or the sad face of a guilty clown heavy hung

From a Janus-deed walking across the boards of

Saint Mark's Square, next to Alexandria's

Gift, a prophesy of bones.

Mon Legionnaire: “Pax Tibi Marce Evangelista Meus!

Hic requiescet corpus tuum!”

It may be Dean Moriatory.



- Anatol Cordua (c) 2017