Songs Were for the Birds

A cento from Ken Kesey’s Sometimes a Great Notion.
—
Set in motion—
outward into the rain—
maroon albums
erode, though not surrendered.
Peaceful
into the eyes,
my lips blister
every minute to line
springfield water
along the western slopes,
and gloom as though
my disinterest to be content,
a river smooth.
Tell me
one notion
and give me
one iron hand.

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Nomen

I. Cædmon
Write your words
and with them
pierce through
nebulous conceit;
wade through the
fantastic and find
truth to speak
and speak it.
II. Julian
You sit in your
self-made isolation,
apart from the world
and worldly things,
as people beseech
your intercession;
and guilt will not
overcome your purpose.
III. Cordelia
He reviles you
and yet still
you act as though
he reveres you,
for you understand
that he has
but an infection
of his humours.
IV. Beatrice
Will your spleen
consume [...]

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