White whiskered words

Long strands, on and on

Leaves and lawns

Farms rolling to the horizon

A beard full of crumbs

Lyrical crumbs. Musical crumbs

Poetry sea to sea

Ocean to Ocean

Fresh, seaming, artisanal breat

The gravity of falling water

The rumble, the mist

 

Whitman’s cascade of phrases, stanzas

I am multitudes. Take my photo

One image of me is an image of us all

Read me

Every whisker of my poetry

Are your whiskers as well

My songs of praise, of love

My songs of history, or working people

Visit my birthplace

Visit Camden

Come and see me

 

Peek inside my bedroom

We are all horn here

Splayed across his chest

The wide scope of his beard

A white tumble of chants and lists

Whisker upon whisker

“Whoever you are, come forth.”

His chin hairs grew as his verse

He pleads, he instructs, he howls

His barbaric yalp

Don’t every shave, Walt

Your beard covers our nation

Let is grow, it is our forests, our grasslands,

Our lakes and creeks

Stroke your beard alt, release those crumbs

Your beard is out bible

Literature falls from your chin

Your hair crosses on Brooklyn Ferry

Across the Delaware

Into print shops in Brooklyn, school houses on Long Island

Into hospital hallways in Washington

Into a loft in Huntington

Where you print The Long Islander

Out of your Niagara Falls, Leaves of Grass