Niki's Four Letters & The Becoming Man

Years' long
futile attempts
did
finally
results produce.
He had, at last
the smallest of rocks climbed
at that enticing intersection
pointing left to the Indian Reservation
and Italy to the right
Fists raised over head
head covered by undisciplined hair
wildly screaming in foreign tongue: "Niki"
And that, surely
could only mean “Victory”

He had become a wild man  
gesturing and barking  
at different directions and ears
“incite
ignite
infuriated
i
island of
irritation
your left i is mowing down
irresistible illusions
of
iconolatry”
 
Trees around him
and  
silence
eternal and serene
touched him
with
the ivory k of a sweet death
“kneel
knight
of
kinship”
he whispered
“kiss  
kismet
of  
uncertainty profound.”
 
He had become a wise man
his audience limited to one,
that girl with the sparkling iris in her eye.
He spoke in balanced  
even tones
along the valley he had forgotten.
“Of olive trees
I cannot talk.
Only of huge walls,
impenetrable cement walls
of distance and bitterness.
Illuminate
images
illustrated
in
illicit
ink.
Your right i will my sorrows marry”
 
Time has his way with men
and his way
with him  
was soon to be had  
as  
he again rose
from the ashes  
of  
meta-modern psychology
of  
befriending snowmen
of  
the zombie ideal he was taught  
to  
stand for.
 
He had become an angry itinerant
a furious orator without audience
overflowing with passion
every night  
he took
his
solitude for a walk.
“Nausea
needle  
needle  
negate  
nominal
Novembers
Nureyev be like
Nora of my dreams
your Ns  
silence the voices
and  
accelerate my steps.”