Abigail Adams granted pious wisdom
on her lover, John,
and her son John Quincy;
divine mercy populates the nation’s stage.
Some are called to be earth tillers, flesh cutters, brine paddlers.
Bemoan the fate you’ve been given,
but stop before you get to your blessings.
Menace the crows, they who would return to the carcass –
indelible scratches in the side of molasses
to mark the civilized line –
Demarcate the pulverized medicine so as to
restart the age-old fire of mechanical wisdom:
the hoe is as good as the car, and hurts less.
Momentary pandering to the marble masses
undermines the flowing order.
Old becomes new again.
Dangerous it is to eat before the pastor has –
— MH, Spring 2010
MonkeyMoonMachine 