Transverse
For The Keeper of the Words
errol miller
The fat green flies
of literature are never silent
rowing in from Amherst and Asheville
to swoon again in the soft poetic glow
of indigo authors blowing out their brains
it is an awesome distant charting
the iron lid of Hell open
music drifting in from the Acme Bar&Grill
and the maidens at Little Chicago
unaware of the altruistic service charge
dedicated to the one they're loving
whose art is it anyway, the keeper of the words
shall add another star to his collection
and the artist of many colors
will sift his frail yellow pulse
to the pastel autumn wind, this
is the lushness of the brilliant story:
we were just beginning to run
when a velvet hand thrust forward
and stole out favorite things.
