The Pilgrimage, Book II: Part 4 / Phillip Neal Tippin
Mephibosheth I
Into the King’s court come.
I Have smoked the summer pipe,
Played locomotive for a moment tonight.
The wired hare won’t jump, can’t—
Can rise to just un-living, unreel, still
Waiting fish will sub-ordinate poetry.
(After Billy Collins’ “Fishing on the Susquahanna in July”)
Today has rained.
Upon the Maker’s
There’s fully formèd flesh.
(Second part to “Upon my word…”)
It amounts to
Dumbing down the drums in my head
By doubling down
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