Riding the White Mule
Charles Plymell
Brains were full of oxygen in the first part of the century
they made great things, posited great science.
Onanistic saviors of hand and brain grew the algebra.
Their great achievements, imperceptible
as radiation depleted the human spirit
and tiny vibes connected and joined the avalanche.
Sometimes the wild, greater power yielded
to whirling tree spirits of the gods in DNA
and altruistically instructed their leaves to grow
that another will have both sun and drink
while humans still argued over the curricula.
In purple blossoms majesty all the families
of dandelions sang beyond the gandy
railroad’s forever dancing long steel lines.
(Joyous supernal they sit upon a weed.)
