“Gypsy Caravan” by Leon Goodman
break china vessels in mirrors
to get at their tantalized powders
run your tongue
along edges
that jaggedly bisect
romantic wigged
thickly-calved footmen
whose dismembered hands
hold sharp crinoline shards
that decapitate
chartreuse chatelaines
dressed in overstuffed demitasse shoes
and plump Pyrenees hounds
their pastel corpulence
fired and glazed
in havened enclaves of illicit kilns
fueled by tumblers of scotch
and spadesful of peat
upon whistling moors
in the dark
under thin dripping moons
double-jointed by shadows
thrown down
by tall drunken stones
dancing a druidic henge
each porcelain service a staple
itinerant tinkers rely on
for soothsaying commerce
with gypsies who fly the Romani red wheel
from fingerbone masts
of garishly decked out
violin-hung dreadnought wagons
or sometimes
that underhand potter
will do one-off deals
the exchequer can’t check
as a boon
for an oddly addicted old gray-beard
who might just be you
but unless you run awfully low
on that stash
of salubrious
decomposed petuntse
you won’t have to shatter
the stock that you pilfered
from Hollywood
of king’s-own-crest chargers
that caught snotty dribbles
from slack royal chins
and highly-snuffed
aquiline noses
eventually though
you and I will be forced
to slurp sober soup
from Dixie bowls
horror of horrors
it’s only a matter of time
till this false-flag
economy
raises up debt-laden levies again
on our bullets
our want-ads
and cigarettes
we’ll both remain paupers
as good peasants should
but you’ll be alone
with your entrepreneurial
demons and all
your ceramic compulsions
because I have big plans
to relocate my poverty
somewhere
where I can at least take a piss
without excisemen
holding out cups
for a share
From my books City of Pawns and Legacies (vol. 1)
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