The Kingdom Of Is Poem by Luke J. Holt

Lately the breeze hangs and rots like fruit
burping smells of pine and rain
in yesteryears alleys you tease dull fire

tomorrow a big hammock of blue or humid pewter
releasing friendships like paper boats
watching no procession

twin lamps make fleshy glows where otherwise shades of ash or hate preside
just fine
gloom and an ether-hose

Is is here where i stay and none dispute
Is is as always Is is
here and now and never not
where lords wear wreaths of wicker and cloaks of yellowed wool

vigils by house-phones
anchored by anklets to a cubed shell
waiting for the lawn to grow back
tuft by tuft i suck down the fumes of the forest through straws of aluminum

Indian summer is always
in the kingdom of IS

ugly-necked orchids with stalks like witch fingers
reaching for the eggy heat of the undim blue

the groves can wait till the barns go brown with balmy August
fatherly thunder disturbs kisses and candles
Iris hides her rainbows from the shimmering arrows

in Is we wait for the last mulberry
to leap darkly from wagging boughs in the puberty of a bashful hurricane

send out transmissions
await idiot responses
sit dour in lawn chairs indoors
waiting for the harvest of Is

in unclipped nothing the jays and crows make small war
rabbits living like wandering, thoughtless Buddhas
nibbling fiddleheads in spite of overcasts drab as newspaper

in Is i am just one king
and all moments are royal
now
but she is always queen
even when her there in Is was then
and her here in Is now isnt

i lend her provinces of head, heart and dreams
and her zoos of glass and parades of nevermore have crowds and stampedes making everything horribly crowded

Is is half-owned by she
who is never near
where she is
is not in there or ever here

mourn they who are not here in Is
their bravery makes them They of Then
and i am still very much I of Is
so much nothing to share with no-one who doesnt have it somewhere Else with someone else