slammin’ with jennifer

she does the ghost of mr yeats proud,
she trods the ould sod
under moon
white flame
montrose of houston or by any other name,
this sunflower sutra of fate & fame has blossomed;
she treads a road of rhyme & gleam,
she is the waking dream of mr james joyce,
sushi-voic’d in a wilderness of fish-&-chips:
a slipstream of consciousness
superhighway spike strip,
the migra chase & race for the border
evasive back-flip:
and i’m hearing how she likes her poets
full-heart & hip to the heartland
headtrip hum & rattle
the falconer in battle;
she is ulysses-in-barrettes,
a self-portrait of the artist
as a young mint julep
in a bluegrass sea of
paddle-wheel tulips,
and we all dig her dog wood dugout,
her blue-ridge
lookout
here she comes, just
catch her if you
can…

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