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Rumination at the Rodeo


The eventual outcome of boyhood games,

a flame, not in the mind, but beside,

cast damp light on harmonies

laborious and deadly…


And an initial draft, hatched

shallow in a cave in France

cracked the first fissures

in the glacial brain. 


Or was it the scratching —

out in the open Sahara —

of senile sandstone, shifting

stronghold of the ochre-clad


crocodile? Bull, babirusa

(Sulawesi contends also)

reposed on royal walls,

content in their ancient muscle


and the praise of Cro-Magnon

drawn out over generations,

when the rovers of Mars lurked

still as calories in mammoth marrow.

None of this now flatters,

the brain and the beast

degrading one another’s passing-

marks on the exam of time. 


Yesterday, I heard

the chords of the crowd

chant the alias of a steer

writhing beneath an Oklahoman,


and panned a lukewarm dairy farm

among the vessels of Wisconsin.

Today, I saw hope hung

in the halls of El Reina.


Picasso, Dali, Magritte —

restorers of aurochian purpose.

Guernica presiding over

its domain of drywall,


grandly basking in reactive intellect

and labyrinthine themes.

Yet in the gallery next door,

a Rothko made me lurch again


from its gross posse

and lack of fluency.

Duped by synaptic chiaroscuro,

herds are limited now


in their visiting hours.

Someday will I also be

guilty of smearing the limestone

with my breath until it blackens?

Beginning Verses
Middle Verses
Working on Verses
Working Title - Aurochs of Lascaux
Close to Final (Part 1)
Close to Final (Part 2)
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