Rondell I have lost my dictionaries
& Spanish fried carbuncles
hold my wizard down

I see you hunting the plains
for a meaning-fattened bison

Scouring the sand
for well-intentioned elocution

Chameleon goblin of gravis/mollis
electrocute my memory is

arbitrary, a mind of its own
bewilderment, harvesting cabbage

at nightfall crooked creep
it sees the fog & blows a whistle.



Dans le petit a.m.
you toss the fool word around
glibly, as if Shakespeare were alive
& holding your pen for you.

Padre, we cannot escape this
creamy white English of

Logos, we renew as if a library book
on loan permanently

to your Viking language
Your Nordic trust
Your Sanskrit celebration

Allemagne! Allemagne!
Duende.