I, Minimus, Decry - Poem by Warren Falcon

I pose you you're question:
shall you uncover honey / where maggots are?
- Charles Olson

myself
the intruder, as he was not - Robert Creeley

Sooner or later everybody's kingdom must end
...And if my hands are stained forever
And the altar should refuse me
Would you let me in, would you let me in, would you let me in
Should I cry sanctuary
- Bernie Taupin

1

O great light inward,
which cannot (what can)
be said of America by manners
obsessed no matter the carnage
stretched to dry in a land where,
Vonnegut clear here,

'love may fail but politeness shall prevail.'

Blind, yes. As yet can't, perhaps refused,
reconcile the projected landscape, the leaking vessel,
landlocked, of State, Vespucius Vestibulis, Topeka grasping
still, scratching at collective far flung coastal doors
for the in-between, no place to be,
all things gray there, politely,
plus visionaries, artists, hog-tied,
flee though are, ironically, there born.

And have not been gripped, me,
'cept by proxy, as were these
'just' poets - justified - trying to true
variant visions into One, no matter
imprecision of facts, imposed muddles they be,
O Topeka ongoingly o're and o're, ore of meanings
which are all spelt 'MESSIAH' - always this word
begins and ends such messes entire.

Still we call it a country.

2

O absolution,

that 'it is only that
the light, o great light,
of the land projected,
was in our eyes and we
could only see our way
to slash, kill toward said projected.'

Blindly now,
still, we seek looking back, vision,
darker inhabitants
diseased off,
killed, or shipped
on good Christian ships,
borders now paced of 'good citizens'
hungry for even more darker blood,
'enough' not a democratic word,
but 'more' (to Boesky asked
how much is enough? He, 'A little more') .

O blinding light.

Odysseus to Polyphemus
the real issue here, entitled marauder,
the unspoken, disavowing thief.
Every shipwrecked citizen located in
Odysseus's answer he to Polyphemus,
one-eyed, mono-visioned shepherd
mourning his lost ones
(lost to Kingly entitled hand) ,
safe-keeper,
none too bright
but constant,
faith-keeping,

Odysseus-blinded,
who calls out,

Who are you who unsights me,
scatters my sheep?

Odysseus, wily -

cleverness, not faith,
is rewarded, the valued
in this projected land -
calls back,
not afflicted of conscience,

'I am No Man! '

This the dilemma of all these
our projected land's inhabitants,
Citizens No Man, willfully ignorant
(the greatest sin) or wide-eyed
pretending. Odysseus
in sheep skin more the predator,
'No One' lobbing rocks,
pretending to shepherd.

Let's name it true -

EMPIRE.

3

I, Minimus, tongue in cheek, creak oar, row out too
into Homeric sea, not old Greek singer, long of breath,
but as Winslow, local seer, his paints, straw hat, consigned
to mistook heroics, pure accident, not to check the sky
maritime, ask captain if row boat worthy of even an
American sea, projected too, can go a-row-row-rowing,
claw oar into wave tips' whitecaps safe perimeters,
smell of earth nasal-yet to keep oriented to dirt.

Have, instead, reaped I redundant whirlwind
play America the Fool again, naively trusting my,
and country's, destiny are one, 'always good' in spite
of Melville's long eloquent 'discantus supra librum' -
'above the book' - more truing than any, to spoil it,
the projected 'pluribus unum' thing, for Mayflower
folks tripping lightly between the hawthorns,
their imported gardens, and God, they think
irritant tomahawks 'can only turn out swell, '
think they, like waves gathering in sea full, of
themselves individually, Destined, they then
and do think, to break just for, O America, thee.

And now come poets each century heavier than
before, heavier than the other few, this new one, too,
only bards, a real few, to bar, board up the big gaps,
O great light gaping torn off, oft thee sung,
slung over shoulder, hauled, the burden,
o the load
it is now become.


>>><<<

The King Must Die lyrics:

No man's a jester playing Shakespeare
Round your throne room floor
While the juggler's act is danced upon
The crown that you once wore

And sooner or later
Everybody's kingdom must end
And I'm so afraid your courtiers
Cannot be called best friends

Caesar's had your troubles
Widows had to cry
While mercenaries in cloisters sing
And the king must die

Some men are better staying sailors
Take my word and go
But tell the ostler that his name was
The very first they chose

And if my hands are stained forever
And the altar should refuse me
Would you let me in, would you let me in, would you let me in
Should I cry sanctuary

No man's a jester playing Shakespeare
Round your throne room floor
While the juggler's act is danced upon
The crown that you once wore

The king is dead, the king is dead
The king is dead, the king is dead
Long live the king