From the Pound Cantos: CENTO XXVIII

Poor old Homer, blind, blind.
A patron of the arts, of poetry, 
& of a fine discernment. All 
decked in green, with sleeves 
of yellow silk, saffron sand-
al so petals the narrow foot. 
Eyes of Picasso. Eye-glitter 
out of black air. A titter of 

sound about him, always. 
Here stripped, here made to 
stand. "It’s a straight ship," 
I said. The blue-gray glass of
the wave tents them. A black
cock crows in the sea-foam.

 
Some / comments on / the logistics of

She decided to paddle 
there, to join a meeting 
of opposing currents

engineered by a spiral 
laser beam. The brix 
levels were already good — 

cinnamon sticks & slices 
of apple. The local bikers
are joining on Saturday.

 
Even though

the jokes
weren't all
that funny

everybody 
laughed

because
it was The 
President

telling them.

Same old
same old

but with a
significant
difference.

This time
they were
laughing 
with him, 

not at him
like they 
did with 

the fuckwit 
who was the
previous 

POTUS.

 
to your scattered bodies go

This place is a rip off, a real
live example of campaign 
momentum in action, on the
downward slide. A year ago 
it might have been a ukelele
serenade, encouraging women 
to talk to their doctors for free
about the ineffectiveness of 

retention programs or fad diets 
or maybe something about Jam-
iroquai. Now the promises have 
no value, imagined or other-
wise. The candidate is bundled
up, the gifts have stopped giving.