Lorraine Capparell © 2007 All Rights Reserved
One of her hairs between pages 74 & 75
of Doctor Jazz—What can this mean, I wonder,
besides the pleasure it might afford Carruth,
who surely appreciates the energies of
the unexpected. He might be watching Levine
watching Art Tatum watch Willie Mays
take a wide turn at first, decisive as a
wind-blown pomegranate spilling blood juice on the blacktop.
Almost equivalent to windy antagonists notching arrows
while you cast verbal trinkets as a way out of danger.
Next day a regal white sycamore leaning sprightly
against gravity, absurd as another stolen election
that’s just history all up in your face. Get another
book down from the sprawled legs-kicking-with-mirth library
of the absurd. Check it out man, history’s just
an honest engine puffing down miles of track
endless as a kid’s summer.
Not something to ask too much about—
whether country ways really are better
than the city’s: the smell of sweet milk from the barn
before first light, the happy-shrieking hooves of the spring
colts cantering free of the geneticist’s gyroscope.
The irrefutable formula of breath—& our own
hootchi-coochi life skittering happily
Sanford Dorbin lives in Chico, CA where he writes and does photography and firewood.
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