A lamppost named Mark: pt. 2.2

read (almost) full Lamppost Poem, in order, here

 

II.

Anna Signpost, famous clairvoyant, an Isle of Mann, none the less,

knew just the right place to wait for the right time.

When finally she spoke—with two good hands and a wicked pack of smokes

and no regard for rhythm, reason or rhyme:—

 

“We modern Gods redeem,

our holy sky, explosive sheen,

with poetry and narrative dreams.

 

“Eleven, thirty-two, both minus one;

Jai-alai bottle of visible ink.

I’ve heard the old song, how Finnegan wakes—

Rose et al. stone throw through.

 

“See how they fall?  See how they rise and fall?

opposing end to opposing end—endlessly sine curving:

Lamppost and window; populist and poet;

the odd then the even; the sledgehammer and the swan.”

“But cannot I form? Cannot I create?

another world, another verse

to overbear and crumble this to naught?”

“Throughout it all you must have forgot

that riddle, riddle, then kick-fade to black.”

 

“But where do we stand?

On what mountain plant our feet,

so to yell at the sky?”

 

“Socratic Mark, don’t dim, don’t dim,

emphatic barks of lyrical sin—

revel, revolve, revolution.

 

Berlin Walls, Jerusalem Gates,

depleted Plutonium concentrate—

revel, dissolve, revolution.

 

Window open to elsewheres unknown,

meditate on a balcony prayer throne—

revel, revolve, evolution.

 

“That mountain’s named Populism.”

 

 

 

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