for Clarksdale Stemming from the root of all truth, The pillars ascend towards the porch ceiling alluding to a roof.
And so . . .
grounded in this truth,
I gaze over and beyond your bodies
and Deep into the springy turf
the fertile blanket. I hear
its loose threads
a mile off
playing in the Mississippi.
I state Salvation; a mental assembly,
prolonging Destiny; a solid White
Cloud atop a silent plateau,
where medication works
making its absence known;
the Sartrean non-being in the cafe of my consciousness.
Sdepan Keshishian, Boston, 2008