Alexander In A Wheel Chair

alexander

with heavy head; his hands
on the iron

rims. the cripple maw of his useless legs echoing
horde-

that alexander whispers "the golden horse-"
cars now askew his grasp
on iron chance of rim- he
slips behind the corner store or the
dust-
whorls in the street and imagines that lying
down,

against the hot carolinian
asphalt all with ghostly
glass pressed long ago into
the road-

he would see his warm cheek.
lying down-
is easier standing.

alexander has violet eyes and gideon sings thru'
sword clannish blood-

on a regal mountain
once where stretching
towards the Scottish trees
twisted by powder-and-ball

that was lying on the ground as well only left upon your swollen jaw would be
alexander the pine ash pine of carolinian slope and morning when
motionless birds

wait not to be first.

alexander, alexander how hardy and
mouthed the charcoal sky has been to you.
under headlights. under gideon and
head

lights