Horatio, the Man Who

Horatio, the man who
lives on a far reaching branch
does what he wants
eats oligarch gelato dry
in the sinking Venetian piazza
doesn’t put up with careers
drowns the Spanish Armada
captures the flag
writes stunning verse
and sounds serious mentioning poetry
at dinner
smokes a pack a day
of wet banana leaves
singing baritone yawns in the morning
if he chooses
eating couscous and Chianti
crumpets and cider
lotus and peyote
aphrodisiacs and bleach
and never vomits or procreates

Horatio, who
accepted the Rheingold’s offer of immortality
compares quantities to years before my birth
ran in the wide open with fifty other soldiers
and only a handful of shrubs
across a field in northern Virginia
rifles slung over their backs
swam the English Channel for a good tea
and went over Niagra in a bread basket
to escape the draft

Horatio, who
speaks every language
including Esperanto, Sanskrit, and C++
visualizes the syntax and context
of all philosophies
surmounting complete understanding
if ever challenged to appear intelligent

Horatio, who
owns land and inheritance
learns to operate his mind
like a mind grown free of hindrance
would likewise do

Horatio, who
never does the right thing
but has always done right:
shall we search the mountains
for gods to devour?

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