errol miller
INTERNATIONAL VISIONS
Lightly rows the boat
past Pacific seaside charm
sweeping past Del Mar
on the road again to ancient China
and down to the stucco colonnades of Atlantis
the only genre that interests me
is everlasting life, the other hand I hold
has let me down before, taking entire seasons
to repair the damage, politely battened down
to repair the damage, politely battened down
to Dixie's own platonic bottom land with
code-names of the unborn dead burning in my memory
this side of Chicago too few public libraries
have beer and wine and postage stamps
and essential maidens for night-time want and need
too many romantics homesteading Tara, too many
Union soldiers behind New Hope Baptist Church
the amber butterfly of caution is flying
in from Pittsburgh with coal dust on its wings
down in the perennial hollow of West Virginia
another imagist story with red geraniums
in coffee cans and starving children
posing for the President, I cry for all of us
our skinny legs, our runny noses
our stalled earth-machines
and poorly-written novels
let us put an end to regional warefare
and publish everything, even poetry
along the wormwood North Shore of California
a New Age glistens mirage-like in the imagination
of flower-children born again in middle-age
tall thin mice polish the carriage, Cinderella
is a little overweight by now, and the Prince
is drying out at Woodland Hills
but what the hell, Cisco
there will always be tomorrow
another platinum plain to cross, another
crop of freshmen authors burning out.
