A thanks to the half-naked transient drunk staring dumbly at the Mississipi

For the fact that you are anything
my ransom poem
anything I don't need to understand but still could know

any way I've lived will surely provide me with means to fit you
where your half-bare ass won't shine like a wild fingerpost for lack of light

where those fleshy lumps won't draw my whole unordered world
with inexorable imagist power

don't you know I wondered if god
and you could die but I am not afraid
though you stand high on Mississippi's dirty bank
I am not afraid, I see your sodden breath shimmer ligthly up the morning air
your two red orbs half-exposed like the newborn sun
as if all the pantheon of gods pulled cathartic at my naked heart
and I passed by without a tear, crossed the river dumbly
on your transient propitiation.

Aubade for Easter

bondsmen
rise up with a shout

rise the morning is burning all heaven with shame
all heaven's shame burning through the thin shade
bids arise

arise even the trees slowly know this with dark fingers
flowing green with their own energy
bursting like secret particles of meditation
from eastern cornices
growing cantilevered out over the sea

but we, in chains
asleep not watching this night's exposed breathing
nor this morning sweating drops of fog
even we when risen will haggle with the fading slice of moon