Archive
10/13/08 - (2)
Blooming Datura
This all-but-full-moon, mid-October night, I bloom like an elegant datura, Casting off my gloom, despair, aging's blues,
By disguising myself as a loon's plaintive tremolo, Filling the night welkin, with illuminations Emanating from the taproot of my tree of life,
That totemic white pine Growing from my hot, throbbing groin — A slender, straight two-hundred-foot-tall phallus
Aroused to impregnate a sky Capable of giving birth to offspring perpetuating life (Clouds, sunrises, lightning, rainbows, sunsets),
Generating signs of divinity in the loon's lonely refrain, Which reminds me of my own fragility, My erection subsiding into silence,
While the winter gales off Lake Superior, Translated by Lake Nebagamon's Rosetta stone, Render my frailty frozen under three feet of snow.
Tonight, as loons lay claim to my solitude, Under this all-but-full mid-October moon, I put my ear to the lake's smooth surface and listen,
To hear my towering white pine Receding through the water's glowing reflection, Back into the ivory trumpet of my blooming datura.
10/13/08 - (2)
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