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Johnson County Poem #6

We are the sum of a hoax and a vowel.
—Haskell of Sardis, aka Haskell the Hogeye


The Jesuits came

today, blurring infinite

sorrows of camera


and Mom, leading us

into and anon

fragrant commodities


cousin, as a dark love.

Seasons retrieve

Calibanís flagrant jest—


leaving blurred

commodious sorrows.

Mom, I confess


a Jesuitís love is

fragrant below this

blurred eave: true


to a rathskellerís

obsession, his cousin

is virgin and dark.



Johnson County Poem #8

Linen as the nougat of human formulae will
not remain linen for long.
—Haskell of Lake Ludwig


Dios Mio, Dios Figaro—

I confess an inborn

reluctance to chess, quiet

movement of the Arkansas.


Confess the secession, inborn

and reluctant, of Dios.

Mother mio, father figaro, dusk

does not quiet the Arkansas.


The secession of Bach

on an early stage he whimpers: tocattas

and chaconnes, reluctant

games of chess. At dusk—

no mother. Father will not quiet

the Arkansas's inborn confession.


Figaros of Arkansas, father—

figaros of mother and dusk!

Figaros of secession rolling,

into an inborn chaos, off the tongue.

Bach, my Bach, chess

will not clear the stage of your whimpering.


Why have you forsaken chess

rolling off the tongue until

Bachís bright nipples

pierce the lips of Dios.

Mother? Fatherís clear stage

is a figaro chaos canít pronounce.


Dusk a la secession, a la whimpering

fugues, the mud to which

Arkansas returns. Dear Bach,

Dios Mio, Dios Figaro! Dusk

confesses to mother fatherís bright

fugue. Processions of chaconnes

finally unfurl the tongue when the river

announces—figaro, figaro, figaro!

 


johnson county poems

stacey duff