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| 13 or so Republican whitebirds. |
I
Among the Carpathian Mountains
The only moving thing
Was Hunter Biden.
II
I was of three minds
Like a Congress
In which there are Republicans, women and blacks.
III
The blackbird whistled in the autumn winds.
Someone find out who he is.
IV
A man and a woman
Are one.
A quid and a quo and a blackbird
Are one.
V
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blower whistling
Or just after.
VI
Reporters filled the White House
Listening,
The shadow of the blackbird
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood?
The blackbird cackled
Indecipherable caws.
VII
O thin men of CNN,
Why do imagine golden birds?
Do you not see the corruption?
Where is my lawyer?
Rudy. Rudy. Rudy!
VIII
I know noble accents
And lucid inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
A beautiful phone call when I hear one
Is what I know.
X
At the sight of blackbirds
Flying in a green light
I cry out for a red light
To stop everything.
XI
He rode over Connecticut Avenue
In his limousine,
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The Washington Wizards
For blackbirds.
XII
The river is moving.
Get over it!
XIII
It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The Democrats sat
Waiting.
There are many ways of looking at Edmund Conti’s poetry. Right side up is best