Travels of Marco

I was in Asia Minor
in pursuit of distant honor
in a suit of finest armor
in a forest of pine or
planks. I was not lost. Regina
(my sextant) stared into the refiner’s
flare as evening grew maligner.

I was in Kazakhstan
collecting rarest poppies. My capstan
gave out. I could no more withstand
the tides than fall to the rattan
mat like Tristan
sailing emptily to his mutant
island.

I was in greater Ghana
harvesting marijuana
with soul-strafing Tatiana,
the local swan—a
mortal one, a
prize among the fauna.
(There should have been a lawn a-

gainst her.) You see, I was in Corinth
fabricating synth-
etic absinthe.
I was adamant. The
trophy I chased for the ninth
night of days was Cynth
-ia, succumbing at the plinth.

Then to Argentina
I set forth with Ekaterina
a diminishing ballerina.
She pled for fina-
steride, having seen a
parrot turn bright green u-
pon my mythic ocarina.

I was in Tel Aviv.
Viv-
ian (my pigeon) and I were feve
-rish from bouts of griev-
ous liv-
er malaise. We must have been naive
-r than a hibernal beave

-r, for soon I was in Canada
as ever. Had no plan; not a
home to hide in, nothing human. Ada
(vulgar bird) went wan, bade a
screeching goodnight to her one God, a
soapstone strap-on. Alone, I ran a do-
zen tests: None truer, none sadder.