Minimus Poem
I, Minimus: a word, the curves of my mouth
I need better light¾to read the fatness in my hair
My foot, oh my foot, my thick soled foot:
we’re safe until we’re not
Giant steed of another, hooded and furiously
banking, let fly a shaft from his bent bow: a violation
so grieved as into me he gave his youth
Overshadowing virgin woods:
baleful June with her sleeping face
lent me my huge destiny
All reading is dead: only this, my hand,
moves My eyes in their sockets,
like lovers on TV, like two buses over-brimmed
with goers to a beer festival, my eyes like gunmen
or girls in mourning, both: Put it away! Put it away!
The pebble of the possible
Truth as a source! I am water¾pooling
I, Minimus, am hungry, perpetually, like a plant
am formed of unforming is why I give nothing have nothing
to give Autumn, in the end, is just a “cold infusion”
Maybe so, but here there is little time left for comedy
