When the Poets Call Out (Pharaoh’s Estate Sale)



Pharaoh’s chariots doused

In a good dose of Red Sea


This is the story

Of the possible

When it’s called out

Long past despair


It recurs

This dousing

And reoccurs


Anytime now

Gets reimagined


Just read The Times

Just read the times

The possibilities


Off the wheels of

Pharaoh’s spin doctors


The imagination loosed





Pharaoh’s strength

Is a prosy power

All in a row



Pharaoh’s power

Is a prosy strength

Of what must be

And can’t be







No, now never has

A champion or

A scribe much


The instant

Goes begging


While pronouncements of future

Prognostications of past


Congeal on and on

Stone, stone, stone





This now so tenuous

So fragile this instant

So gossamer it so seldom

Goes noted

Gets called out


How all may be





Pharaoh hears the rush

That the future

Might be different


Different from now

If the prose didn’t


Keep falling into line


To dam possibles


Pharaoh knows

And hears water





The future reimagined if

Those poets, those prophets

Got loose on it now


The story retold

That the future

Is not inevitable

Is not prose

All arranged

By the powers





Pharaoh’s chariots doused

In a good dose of Red Sea


When the poets see now

In its possibles

When the poets call out

What may be


Put out the sign


Pharaoh’s Estate Sale




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