Poem: Uncervantes

After the donkey OD,

The burro falling off the main line

Into sightless chasms,

He saw the path had to alter course.

In the Land of Asses Kicked and Names Taken,

Glittering like mica chips beneath asphalt,

Chittering voices rose

From dark undercurrents of the Rio del Corazon,

Asked him to stir the pot.

He decided to build his reputation

As a cook.

Top Project Runaway.

***

Sanyo pans a peasant

Appliance of manifold services,

Videographer, vehicle, vessel,

Solid-state cookware for the end of days,

A double boiler with conductive handles

Encompassing south and northwest

And all the land between them.

They clamored upon his brow,

Distracting him though they

Channeled the sounds of his new station.

He left their echoes as acoustic wallpaper

And companion for the journey.

***

“But…

Where are the windmills of yesteryear?”

Where has Miniver Cheevy vanished,

Wet Virgil to sight the way?

When Dulcinea comes at will

With proper cable access,

Why leave the salon?

“--What, Sanyo?

I do not hear my muse among your voices.”

Will subsides amidst cuisines and choices.

“Where to go?”

***

Vertigo and too-thick stock of self

Keeps chefs at bay, leaves

Makers stewing, stopping round the way

To reassess and reassess, chewing

Pot-top additives for oracles,

Laurels do not flower

In this kitchen of the soul.

***

“Let me ride beside you, noble man.

Set me astride your mounting purpose.

You shall be my loa.

I will canter with visions,

Trace recipes and channels to a new sea

And not begrudge the borrowed music.”

Old songs shape more than new static.

“I bend for thee.”

***

^{03 Dec 2007}