Horsegrass Seed

The irony of this copper crown
I ring around your hair –
this semi-thick fiber for
yon russet-gold & windsown

filament of horsegrass seed (cold
dark axion out of chiral
superfield). Dear radio-loud
fermionic superpartner... my old

cartoon of your invisibility
is buried nearby (in the
cosmic attic, maybe).
As if I could draw your ability

to be wherever I be, Yam-Wham
O bright magmonic tennis
gamin! (Please scan the scrim
for WIMP- or MACHO-errors, Clem.)

My silver tuning-fork, only an echo
of sea-bells (rose island
adages, Miranda).
Caustic firemasterings still flow

to the stony ceiling, where his face
beams (Galilean gallery night).
Ladders, long-neck sprites,
sword planted for a crosspiece

in that sink-point copper prow...
the oldest crown of all.
A 7x7” buttermilk burial
will cradle your cranium (for now).




Mire Pebble

O king of kings, of kings... ping, ping...
mere pebble in the fountain’s
fascinatin’ facets, Hen.
Trade you my turtle for that willow thing,

pal. Love’s always on the fair side
of the sketchpad – always
2 or 3 guys,
gals (sad Millicent Pip says

A PANE Madonna with Munchkin
Surrounded by Penned B-B Gun

Pullets, or Satan’s Greatest Hits
(kapustulation at Munich).
Uneasy lime the sick
& squirrmink soul... see, he vomits

worms, that Prince o’Poococks.
Nobody lubber him no mare.
He th’umptiest man-hare
in the stream – block-rovin’ avis-ox...

Your stone weigh more’n this M-
&-M, aimin’ for shore
– Chocolish be pure
rococo-novo PIE in MY tank’s giveye, Hem.

Let us contangle this convocation
on the Plain of Explanation,
. – Mizn’t shum
the tautrope, needle, Addie Marion.






The mild idea of August, when the season
shifts down slowly
like a Susan (dark-eyed
teetering sun). & how then

untie this Cornish nut? Old man
of concrete sorrows, clay-
foot minnow-tar, so thickly
barnacled, gillied o’er wi’ tin-can

regalia... highland loading-docks
for lotos-haggles. Knot
for Gordon or McNutt
indeed! Go & tell that phlox

something greener than Macbee
be here!
In humble Hubble
pebble-hubbub, stubble
of autumnal sensibility... you’ll see.

Rook through the crooked mirror,
maven. Some Thanksgiving
nods in the riddling
rhizome’s kid-scrawled wisdom (barely

there). Somebody’s paw, leafing
from the aqua liner
like a buoy – slim silver
bone-whistle (Asclepios-thief).

A wheel of emerald palms (Phoebus
folk-art). Very unique
linen, spun with coral eye-
drops reefed to each lifeline (outré rebus).






Strum Softly

If I extend a handle on
this raven-winged
diagram – & spring
an abstract of some gamelan-

hieratic chessbud’s ovoid willow-
drawings – some Abyssinian
synthesis (elephant-clown
in boxer-trainers)... Grace might go

with you, Cindy, to the well.
Fallacious, maybe, but
archaic, too. Something attic-
mitten Hittite’s southern belle’s

Ptolemy about him. Might be
the beginning of some word
or name Edwardian
Antiquaries overlooky-lookied –

crucigerous Ensigne-navvy, or
chippy’s waterboard...
Aye-aye, Chaplain. Too heavy

& too knotty by half, Bogey-
man. O this victorious
waterfowl of senseless
adoration – peacock’s Jubilee-

midéwe dalliance! Only memory
of your hermetic lips’
vermilion... while ships
strum softly on up to Itasca (for thee).





[Henry Gould's essays and reviews have appeared in Critical Flame, Coldfront, and elsewhere.  More poems from Ravenna Diagram have been published in Blackbox Manifold 12, the Battersea Review, Notre Dame Review, and West Branch.  He lives in Providence, Rhode Island]

Copyright © 2015 by Henry H. Gould, all rights reserved. This text may be used and shared in accordance with the fair-use provisions of Copyright law. Archiving, redistribution, or republication of this text on other terms, in any medium, requires the notification of the journal and consent of the author.