Thursday, April 19, 2012

Ballad of Kris

He has been so many places and done such things.
Strange days and unspeakable rites under wet fronds
that drip with night and with ghosts almost moaning.

How could he not set down agonies and glories on pages?
And how could the New York suaves who are afraid of danger
know what it is to go down into darkness of seawater and rise
reborn with knowledge of great fishes, untouchable pearls?

He has been so many places, and he "saw" that large teacup
floating past barges and filled with young stupefied seekers
on the lost deep currents of the imponderable Yellow River.

If what he has gleaned from combat with all this phenomena
has like ectoplasm flowed toward you with his shy sentiment,
consider yourself among the elect and do not spurn the gods
whispering riddles and wonder from within his beating heart.

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