Library Card (7 August 1985)
.
1.
.
.
  McKeough in his Buick
  drove me to Ekstrom Library
     (dreamed it grew 
         from the tiptop,
             annex of my mind).
. 
      The passage looms, two 
   old men fight for my bindings
   He steps in sidewise, my buddy,
    to protect the greater part.
.
       Dragging the master's books 
      with prescience 
        we filled the blindcart 
    (not understood 
     by me or him for 
     more than a decade) 
        from the shelves.
.   
   Wheeled them off in a barrow
    he brought in the trunk
   liberated them with 
        his library card.
.
..
2.
..
.
   In the riverfield 
    we ate the blue strands
     and puked in the river 
       before...
     his Irish brogue choked  
   harmless peaceful gagging
       "fuck, o fuck, blight."
        ...and laughed after
    
. 
 And the fireflies carried 
    off the less of us 
     afore the storm
     prepared us to
  suffer nothing ungallant of 
   him      old sir
           we waited ..in 
   veil & trance of him.
. 
   an eternal summerleap
.
   And many a vision beneath an old oak 
  in August storm we dared to come then 
and there:  old Sir -- diggin' us
.
   "That oak, don't turn your back to her,
       ...knows we are paper users."
.
    She rain dribbled, static in our hair,
     waiting for old Wabos the groom, 
            and trickster.
.
    Catching fire, I described 
    the Sapphic tragedy      nightflash
     vigor of youth     an officer's sharpened and 
       brandished sword        ...and on August 7 
      ...within three weeks      the ancient library gone
          ..blackened stone, incunabula white ash...
          smoky light       all ashes..
      but brothers, fellowships in our eyes..  asway.
.
      On thru Alexandria, Cavafy's half-life affirmation
         blameless   in   moments before disaster
         As is their way, the soldiers burned 
            it down ...library only fragments
         papyrus shards remained... our sub-lime 
         dyke frankincense-vaulted
.      
     "when suddenly at midnight you hear
         an invisible procession go by"
.
..
3.
.
        Our backs to the old wood 
           old Sir, jugland acaea. 
            Acorns grew 
            from the knowing,  
       with tendrils 
           for the willing when 
              ..we started
             down this passage 
       picking up his thread..
         Sliced palms and knocked chests
           McKeough sending me 
           to the wetground.
         Static and more static
              Zeus Digonos, ole Danny Boone
         of two testicles   of riverbanks       
            mastery of the old wood 
          in the main, the swayflash 
            the saltpeter & gunstock 
          periwinkle (overcoming)
         in all directions: Cadjiwanecti, 
                Sir! rabbit 
                a trickster!
                  dancer! fool! 
              floats! leaps!
             throws a wicked hatchet
            into the Ohio.
.
            August the heatflash 
              the armhairs stood
               abandoned strategies
             no disavowal, belief central
             And the journey? 
          [insert actual Brecht here].

        McKeough, old friend, 
       etymologies are fantastic.
       This sun never rises, never sets.
      "Good then, I'm not so slow" 
       he smiles sirflashes.
          The blue veins, his bluepeeps 
          twinnage the spires --quickflashred 
        Blindbat--hotlight 
          Harelip, Levi-Strauss,
           jiminy cricket gemini.
.
         Soggy sweater for him 
         his heaving to cover 
         The fire hit the tiptop 
             and pretended not to love.
.
..
4.
..
.
         And the early hours tinder, 
             rain still falling,
         swim! the current     
       has won me this powerful tricep, 
           shiverstroke of his breast
         strikeflash   read his moves, 
                  you         you
                      have to,two,too
            swap yourself 
             for him, you become 
        him, each for the other.
    Old Sir, ranrunstheriver,
        sunlight so softly, ache
       in the jaw for the knowing, sleep
        for the landing.               
.
5 May 1996
[end]
James A. Gardner

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