It was clear
the minute I heard he'd hit their clock.
It was evident. As the year
went incoherent, the letters got to chance
associations, to Solomon, to hearing
random things in the Psalms, like the bulls
in 22. They that be fat and fear
the afflicted. This
he had said the cavalier
did, addressing the Virgin to bless
each ear. "Give the animal this feel
of sanctification." But not the bank.
The fool. He must have had a time just
getting the boot off. With all that business
going on.  Santisima Madre. Flinging it
right over the teller. Clear to the clock
and hitting it. Imagine his roaring
at the open mouths. "You get out. The Bank of America
never shall govern. The gold, O my children,
it will come with love, like the garden,
like marble and the myth we are sick of."
Crazy Dave, to pick such a place
to be caught. What I mean is how
did you go about it? I take it
the grace to talk like that didn't
just happen. Are you there? Send me
a letter. I want to hear the Chimera.
To get the rest of Her. I mean
are there wings or a tall. How many
teeth? These are pieces I could be
following. Voices to place. Something
to come to. I bet
you are walking up and down.
Let me know. I have to go about it
right.

Nicholas Popoff - Poet