Rube Goldberg Suite
autumn moon red as merthiolate
setting into Jersey smog.
Inside was house. Inside
was machine. Add this to that
the test tube turns blue.
Cap it with your thumb and shake.
A smell pervades the circumstance,
the dog moans
frightening the cat who springs
onto the treadle that opens wide
the bronze gates of the cemetery
and a priest sprinkles holy water
on the grave
thereby watering the geranium.
No, I had no dog. He never showed
the dying and the dead.
Only the baby and the young mama,
the goofy husband and the yenta wife,
never the dead. The dead
have no casuality, do not
"represent" in this dream our lives,
are gone. What is here
is a wheel, or works off a wheel,
is crushed under one or flying
from dizzy rim spin out
to the end of the living room
where the father sits
in the inarticulate despair
that is his great authority.
Everything we know disturbs the world.
Robert Kelly
Posted over on one of his sites RK-ology
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