Marlboro Review - A Mandelbrot Set (1)

A Mandelbrot Set (1)

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I. Lament for a Tree

The cane I use to scale the warehouse shadow is
the cane my mother bought from a withered old man
who carved it out of sassafras in his backyard.

Its nub scrapes the meat of my hand,
the mace that met the temple in a moment
of malice some twenty years before.

The splinter on the groove on the hilt
is the kingbird’s perch on the tree beneath
the walls where the woman sings for her son.

II. Meditation on the 1st Meditation

I don’t even want to begin the doubt.
From the demon in my folds
will come the demon in the marrow
and all my dreams, even heaven,
will come home to roost on a pitchfork.

I wouldn’t be able to sever myself
from that prong of hate.
Suppose I had the will.
Where could I go but to the arms
of a myth and where the myth goes
is but an image of itself forever.

III. Epiphany on a Cold Day

I had never studied a form
never
until you placed that note in my hand
and left me a platonist.

I had never seen the
top of a stairwell
no need
except in that effort
to see beyond you.

As I stare at the
cloud bottom
so near to the touch
I had never seen
never.

IV. Koan About My Uncle and His Dog

uncle kept a pit bull blend
tied to a block beneath the house
he beat it with a nightstick
he crushed its paws with his work boots

it mauled my little sister
when she walked too close
to pet it
they rushed her to the hospital
some twenty miles away
in the meantime it got loose
killed sheep in the neighbor’s ranch

my uncle got a new pit bull blend
just ten weeks later when
they found the corpses
he trained it to tear the flesh
to pieces and tied it to the block
beneath the house

V. Lambchop & Zeno’s Paradox

That little white ewe
on Shari’s hand,
where does she end and
where does she begin?
They sing, they sing.
You would think they were
two if you talked to them,
you would think they were
one if you followed the
fleece from end to end,
from the bridge of the nose
to the top of the head.
Those red-tipped prongs
in Lambchop’s skull,
where do they end, and
where do they begin?
They sing and they sing.

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