Melville In Baltimore

at the
aquarium in
Baltimore underneath
the lording equanimity
of the harbor

I pressed
my face to the glacial
cisterns of unconsciously circling
fish and dreamed heavily
of Melville sawing backwards
and starry over some
hillside encampment
writing his poetry. his true love.
twining the body of my lover
aside the riverboats and flimsy rafts,
the smoggy lowing of
barges spattering the pristine
whitewalk of
City with sullied gray.

as I am walking.
and the
hard tramp
of shod feet on an unfamiliar
corner. an unfamiliar
traffic light. a
car horn blares
and how egalitarian our poetry has allowed itself to
erupting become

Vesuvius would be proud

the quiet marine impound of
speaking plants
and filtered dazzling
overlight on the trembling skeletons of plasticine whales. little shrimp caught in their great hairbrush mouths. some
thing so, with mammalian
insentience, completely malevolent!

all the
tiny biologist who shirked
at fashioning the
fastened bones

oh Melville come! I need a drink. strong, preferably and with a rough slap of campfire flavor. you have died too soon. you have needed
to write more
poetry Melville here in Baltimore it is summer in August