used figuratively (B. Johnson: I am bold to entitle these lesser poems, of later growth, by this [name] of Underwood, out of the analogie they hold to the Forest in my former booke.” 1637)
Also, a typewriter.
Little trees, growing beneath tall timber casting long shadows, and yet protected by such greatness // our ‘tire civilization, this city ‘neath the treelimbs, exercise in underwood, some climbing to the tipeetops of redwoods to see farther and know, to read the world, others shelter ‘neath their branches and mistake woodsprites for great gods, great horned one, Cernunnos, Woden’s Wood, walk in bowers on Wednesday’s;
I make my bed in the underwood, little child of greater spirits, Old Tom O’Bedlam, that’s me, First Thomas came to this virgin shores (In the beginning, the whole world was America) , and he had a Thomas, who climbed atop his shoulders, and he had a Thomas, or Sarah with her two boys out of wedlock, descendants of Ballards, and others, Amos, Moses, John Ashley Boyett, Edward Jasper, Julius, Ovid, then Michael and Richard, and now me and my brother, Joshua and Daniel, underwood, shifting, turning, now Jewish, adopted into the Old Cabal, like Ruth —
Children of Khazar Princes — underwood, underhill, type, type, letters and numbers, signs and sigils, ancient ruins, come dance in dappled forest paths, find the path to secret cities, tell me a fairy tale of dwarves in wooded glens, who’s the fairest, screams the wallmirror, echoing old crones, we all live in bowers, our cities are temporary scarplaces against the arbor, primeval wood, and dryads and others remember the trueworld, waiting to bounce back and use us as sourcelogs, rotting logs, human to humus, while great mighty woody life stands silent and dreams green dreams.