Such a Victorian

The bird that flutters reaches out
Into time; knee-deep in nerve gas,

At the cemetery gates, the children play
Like half-opened flowers on a breeze; but,

Deep in the coffers beneath that layer of non-
Sense all along the big rivers, the fishermen

Stock themselves in a hefty dose of rum.
The ship sails on to Shanghai, and, like the silent

Strokes of a whip; or the snake tongues that rise
From the sea; the insane iron eyes staring

From the keep, I hope the many-more of you
Are blind like the singer in all his rose of hope;

That gathering of ruffled skirts, the approachable
Neckline, the stars in the charts, those who wander

From a kiss, or in some insane way, close
Up the holes so all we have is surface.



Marc Vincenz is a poet, fiction writer, translator, editor, artist and musician. He has published 17 collections of poetry, including more recently, Einstein Fledermaus, The Little Book of Earthly Delights and A Brief Conversation with Consciousness. He is publisher and editor of MadHat Press and publisher of New American Writing. He lives on a farm in rural Western Massachusetts with his wife, Miriam, and their Australian Cobberdog, Emily Dickinson.