My Beautiful Bent, Weird Revolution

I’m tired of things only meaning one or two things.

I’m in love with orthogonality:

one becomes five becomes ten-thousand

becomes purple, becomes God.

I have reenlisted in the Poet Core

to serve on this, a top secret mission–

which, as poetry, means I tell

everyone who reads or hears this poem:

the secret of the Bent Christ Cross,

the 24th letter of the English language–orthogonal T–

Sacred, bent “t”–the letter X.

Love letter, Leadbelly, where were written your poems

last night?

In the pines? In the palm trees?

In Red-orange embers?

In pale-blue sky?

Somewhere between the Holy Trinity, the letter “X”

and Hiroshima–

somewhere lost among shoreline palms

and midnight psalms, whispered, whispered and

if you listen very hard

the words will come to you at last:

this Declaration of my Beautiful and Bent

Weird Revolution.

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