Lord Luvvadukk (Part 1)

Lord Luvvadukk stepped out into the stunning sunshine 

that is only stunning and hot and humid and cloudy 

like this in west Kansas, also known as Colby County, 

also known as the birthplace of various famous figures and native dignitaries.   

By the incidence angle, 

Lord Luvvadukk knew that it was around mid afternoon, 

after lunch enough to take an afternoon break 

to walk the perimeter 

and break in a new pair of boots 

and smoke the bad cigar 

been working on since the middle of last week.  

 Lord Luvvadukk was wearing loafers at the moment, 

having been sitting in the twilight of the living room 

reading expired New Yorkers 

that Aunt Luvvaduvv brought ten years ago 

on her way through from New York to San Francisco, 

as it is so common of New Yorkers to do, 

to pause long enough on route 

from New York to San Francisco 

to leave something behind.   

The New Yorker thinks about that, 

but cannot turn back, 

the mentality of every block a battle, 

every subway a potential terrorist target, 

every wasted step a wasted step.  But 

Lord Luvvadukk, 

as a simple prairie man, 

could not toss the magazines in the burn pile, 

could not imagine that Aunt Luvvaduvv would not return for them.  

 It took 9 years, 

or about one year ago, 

today, 

before Luvvadukk opened the pages and started reading.   

The talk of the town was the mismanagement of some nuclear reactor 

someplace or another 

and the consequence of fiscal meltdown 

or somesuch disaster.  

 Frankly, Lord Luvvadukk could not really care.   

The significance of it all was all so far removed 

from Kansas and the perimeter of the Luvvadukk estate. 

tropic

squall line
no horizon
leafs whine
two hydrogen
rain chime

 

mold

the image I have of you
is a curious hue
not so much blue as green
laughing at sights not been
barely unseen and nearly olivine
smooth to the touch
but in spots left rough
so much so much
as it was when it bust

88888888

the discards of webs
invisible thins
left bugs for dead

the scaffold of summer
that catch who what hummers
under lights and moonlight flutters
a spider kind of breads and butters

by catch by carbonate soda
by hook or by crook
I drink and I look
the beetle as wagon train conestoga
geronimo spider riding down lightning and thunder

a magical number is nine
lives lead said feline
but eight is great
as per cool daddy longlegs
on the kit
sipping black glasses half
full of that arnold palmer back
writing the beats
four two time eight note octagonal feet

may flies

wings attached splashed
in static water tension
turning turning a stagnant pirouette 
part of the puzzle the why

leaves of grass

cool sister grass
green razor shades
cutting the sun
de profundis eons
oxygen one to one
numerous seeds sum

whistle as we work

hammers swing
and nails ring
miniature john henry things
railroaded planks verymuch ceilings

avionics asleep (or trying)

raining and pouring
old robin on the branch
aint snoring
or reading poetry
robin is a bird
working hard at it
wet and without
memory of the land before time
not that tv show, animated as it was,
but of the evolution of species
the origin rather
when birds went bald
and the rain wasn't so cold

this is the curse of the sucker

holes in the flows
river torrents rip around
fathom currents dips and foam twists
for treble cleft hooked lips
fins and dives in the drink
racoons and beer cans float
just the same as walleye boats
anchors iron stern
bow and bilge the scuppers
where suckers swim
ciscos white perch
on tight lines or even bobbers
sopping in the chop of forty acres
where next fall is today
one frozen handful of fingers away

over water

the timing of lives
is hard to belie
at the surface or below
insects slowly pupate and grow
into the wings of a higher purpose
to fall victim to swallows half arco iris