Coronation For The Crimson Emperor

Good morning—good morning!—

My sunshine daydream

You, my love, this morning you

Were—there, next to me—

Blooming, bloomed! Out indeed

Between us—

Your pale skin and body

—quiet next to me in hum—

Blooming like a deep red rose

—this and you so sudden in the

Morning, in the dawn next to me!

You deeper still you, my

Cherry-blood mouthful

Red—you, my bold

Bolder man maroon

Deepest maroon

Red!—you!

Flicker fire fire

Engine red

Across me

In passion

Passing here

Between us,

Passion past

Across your skin—

You! Your body!

—so red—

The deepest of dawn—

And then here beside

You red you within you

With these perfect pools

Of such pale purple

That swell and the silence

Somehow that passes between

The silence and tender between

Us—I can finally see—

There, here in your deep red’s

Night night-est light night

I can see the how and the

Delicate of that blue of me…

You always seem to yearn

To be lost—consumed—

Within!—with my every

Touch softest touched with

My eyes—my glance

—Press’d deep and so

My eyes the pale of sky-blue

That—there within those of mine

—Twin skies, their glinted sighs—

You my ripe reddest man, love true

Pay in love back to me my gifted

Desire as blue within blue

Pay with that weight of your

Warm and red and smile and red

—and body and red—

—and so long years—and red!

Everytime I feel your rogue glance

And too your red candle candescent

So iron-hot Rogue red

R o y a l R e d Emperor

Here, in this quiet of morning

Please, come stay yet

To yet rule this the

Vast empires of my azure—

Oceans of love

Oceans of air

Oceans within with me—you

Emperor Red of Me Deepest Me

Deep Deeper Space,

Deeper Blue, Bluer

Blue so infinite in within you.

Utah Gothic

(for June Alice Thedell)

Silence—the shutter—chill and still

Across grave stones in a graveyard

In Smithfield, Utah, its

Claim in the dirt—Sacred Soil for

Souls—Radical Souls, Soul Revolutionaries, Souls who lifted Themselves up—translated themselves

Into Americans, citizens in and of Utah.

Utah Gothic.

Smithfield, Logan, Roy: northern cities

In Logan, Grandmother Alice’s house

Was across the street from the Mormon

Church there. It was a short Summer walk,

For me, to the Logan Temple:

God as immediate as a trip to the grocery.

Slightly more distant was a campus

For Utah State University, the Aggies.

Cache County was seat of North Utah;

This Mormon Empire—citizens from

Norway, Sweden, England, France

Were here for a new God, a new country.

Utah Gothic.

Retired by the time I visited Summers,

Grandpa Garnel kept his

Watering equipment left over from the

Farm: canvas hoses, tin and wood

Fittings and boxes, to use for irrigation with

The Spring rain mountain runoff from city

Gutters. He’d water the lawn, bushes,

Trees on the front side facing the church, watered the backyard garden, its raspberry, blackberry bushes.

You could walk to downtown from my grandparents’ house, to the

Town library, to storefronts there since the 1940s, 1950s: the Bluebird restaurant, the Beauty College, the ice cream factory outlet. 20 minutes drive brought Gossner Dairy: cheeses, bulk curds, milk in sealed sterilized boxes and guaranteed for ten years from purchase, produced with equipment from a manufacturer in Sweden.

On a distant edge of

Logan was a petting zoo; opposite that was the giant grocery outlet.

Drive past the outlet and you’d arrive at what used to be Grandpa Garnel’s farm.

Utah Gothic.

You, Whom I Saught

(for Daniel)

No matter where you are–

I still hear you when you

–dream–

You sing out so very far

Your voice so bright

–like a star–

and–we–are

All of our tomorrows

rushing up–

Every tomorrow:

spark, kindle, sparkle

BURN–I–

spark myself up

Just for you

Light my heart ablaze and

through every torched moment

I pray

to God

that you see it

that you feel me

burning beneath your bed

sintering under your feet.

Love–let my heartbeat

form a marriage pyer

for when you say “I might”

for when you might hope to hear me

“Do, I–do, I–love you do–“

Love, my every heartbeat

bears God’s name–BUT–

he has them on loan

–from you–

Can God make a heart he cannot win?

I can never be certain–except I know

already you–my Lord–hold the title

and the deed and the name and word.

Whatever contract or arrangement you

and God

may have found yourselves making

–beyond me–

God now would never dare

–I know! I dared him!–

to claim title to my soul or heart

–Iron Lord of my Soul–

Governor of my Person and

Priest of my manhood.

Lord of my Soul–

I, your Poet–

Me, a Priest of Nothing–

Beg–

Wait still–

for you, My Lord–

to finally begin–

to make us–

to make me your–

   Legend.

Battleship 1976

Everyone has bled, but only women and poets

need to bleed.

Everyone fears and prepares, but only sailors and poets

train to hold a knife-blade to civilizations’ throat.

Everyone envisions the past, its future, but only presidents and poets

preside over free souls as commander-in-chief.

I am Battleship 1976.

I am ultimate scion to the first Iron-clad warship;

My engines run on terror and pride that drove Vikings

to America.

See me in conflict and it’s already too late–

an armada you yet cannot see has you in range and awaits

only my signal to fire on your position.

I am Battleship 1976.

In the age of intergalactic travel,

my sister-ship is the NCC-1707 Enterprise.

God served as admiral upon a ship of my design when he

won the war in Heaven against Lucifer.

Ancient poet Lao Tzu drowned in a drunken midnight swim,

believing he could cross the Yang Tze river to board me.

I am Battleship 1976.

I am the vessel that every child with Lego bricks tries to build.

I am the ship that mothers pray their sons serve on,

whenever their country has a draft for war.

Mine is the name on God’s own lips, the name that

God whispered before he first spoke his own name.

I am Battleship 1976.