by Mark Sargent

A champagne shadow, froth on legs

the kitten slinks through the jasmine

surging off the wrought-iron,

summer rain splatters the leaves,

thunder groans down the Tayegetos,

Maya massages the lethargic Ali,

messages from afar slip through the storm

fleeting attentions for something so done

boomeranging back to the spot begun,

Mystras dark hunch up through mist,

Yianni and the summer roll on while

‘a vast emptiness of meaning’ descends on the valley.

We have chosen a tool to hone the air,

the atmosphere, to tickle circuits

and when nobody laughs, fail—

implode or ex, with the materials at hand,

spawn combustion flares igniting the scene

of the accident, colored cop light swirl, rising

steam, strobed bodies moving about the edges,

a thousand films later they rise wearing Bakunin masks

painted to resemble Ho Chi Min

on a good day, when he felt like dancing.

A bewilder of props to hand, belched asides,

oxymoronic pratfall splash, pong of dialectic fart,

pressed on the automatic squirm nerve a thumb

so firm that the pulse recoils up through the arm

ka-thump ka-thump ka-bleat-blatter-blow

the clothes on the clown, and whatever sticks,

adheres to precarious form splat, is the trick,

the rupture where the story trips, breaks down

and sobs out its slapstick tale of woe and laughter.

1 thought on ““TRADEGY IS EASY,…”

  1. Mark Sargent lashes and flashes our unsettled eyes on his fun
    and games at prefabricated houses of his own lexicon of cards broadcasting of a bingo and joker language tricks and panegyrics.

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