Wednesday, December 18, 2013

Athanasy



Athanasy

Blinkard Jesse James, his filmic reflection,
forms a downward-blood-drip direction...
and viewed over and over we find it classy.
Or as eternal as eternity gets in our version.
Wind-up Roy Rogers toys have been
turned aside by Clint Eastwood bobbleheads?
When everything is poignantly forgotten,
you shall still, in comforting theo-mad theory,
wander great cosmic spaces with a Wolfhound.
Okay... so is it any wonder that no fewer
than two-dozen museums curate splinters
off the rugged True Cross? So it  is
that Jesse James' dried brain blood,
tiny sealed-in-resin flakes of it,
sells -- in certain circles-- for far more
than a 50X Gene Autry snow-white Stetson.







No comments:

Post a Comment