Look for me under your bootsoles
where I have prepared a kingdom for those unwanted, unseen, and I am king.
Piceous black are its rubber crenellations,
its castle walls of upside down plastic,
a labyrinth to all that's lost when love is looked for.
Thud - thud - thud, the
metaphysic fortress gently rocks as you walk up the library stairs,
check out a book on loneliness —on hope —on gall.
Now you're running across a long green field.
(In the kingdom, we're holding on for dear lives!)
You're kicking off your shoes, lying on the grass
Alongside a beautiful young man (Walter, we'll call him),
who'll make love to you, later, on the lawn in the evening.
The kingdom peers on, inspired, entranced, jealous —yet
Wishing you joy. You roll on your back, blissful,
grass sticking out sideways from your long, flowing hair.
The kingdom sighs, happy for you both.
Now absolved by the High Priest, Her Holiness Conceit
and Imagination, we hold a High Day for you,
with a parade, some orchestral music, and a symphony.
Many then leave the kingdom and walk out into the grassy world
for the first time with music in their ears, the lawn becoming
bigger under their hesitant, judging feet.
This was a wonderful roll in the grass. I like what you have done with this. The imagery is superb and the words that you have used give it a depth of integrity that I find refreshing. Walt would be proud. Great one.
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