1. BRAIN, GRAIN AND BUCKLE
These rainfalls gossip of summer to the corn seeds and
beans.
They whisper of orchids, of grain bracelets in the fields.
Who wears boots or galoshes now will wear slippers in
two months.
And the corn erect a funhouse for the little ones.
First there are months of tools and tractors borne across
the land.
And the wind slapping the barn door like a cheap
cabinet.
Of this passage from hunger to plenty, the diminutive
Aristotle said nothing.
That such a field of dreams could be sown in the corn
belt.
See the blue that sucks up the thoughts of great cities.
Consider the dreams that roam the land without
tongue.
And the happy children still fleeing through green
passages. Their world organic, their path among green
banners. Acres held by a belt with no buckle.
2. BEAN, SICKLE AND BUCKET
There will be no baseball in Circe’s garden.
So precious is she that she dines on white beans and
orchids.
And the caviar said to be salted with men’s blood.
Metered passages of gossip enthralled the Greeks.
They heard in them the wind sickling the waves off
Crete.
Hence, their poets drank wine by the bucket and
sang to the gods.
They danced with their arms and shoulders.
They braced themselves in a boot-clad line for the
climb up Parnassus.
While their eyes played the dance floor seeking
shipmates.
They also loved the organdy of the open sea.
And yes there was grain in the liquor.
They were not of one mind only, they ate eel and
octopus.
They had history in their thoughts, but they could
dance.
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