Elixir

Elixir
........
Watching the concrete flow
Makes the garden man complete.
He’s now more balanced there
On his six wide feet.
A hat as wide as a parasol.
And a scowl.
With a trowel make a stream for his spine.
Cottonwood in an ear
Flowing yellow lava down the other ear.
The flowers set and harden
Through a waterlogged typewriter growing green.
And a tiger at the window watching
Bursts out from his yellow cellophane wrapping.
Sing down brass Victorian storm drains
Echo out to the bleak pump station
To near an old leaning lighthouse
A gray salt seller with a light on top turns
To salt the sea
Like an owl out hunting.
So now to dicing the dog
Now he’s risen in the yeast
In bright sun
Before that stomach explodes
Covering him with Parmesan and scallion
Mixing the elixirs
Brewing up gritty storms
Kick the bicycle tire till the spokes snap out
Tighten the worm in wire nightshirts
Determine relations
At the weakest of connections
Ring the gray water out from the sleeve
And pull the bone right from the trout
The eyes were dull
Somewhere near Mull
Near the warm air of Iona
By Finn Mac Cool’s throne
The truth is buried deep in the loam
That sit above that causeway.