Congestorium Bubo Boncompagno al Publicius

For Kenward Goldly of Shabbeth

'his tuneful fingers stir the keys and so impart
shiver on shiver to them who live in memory cards'


Tranquilly, the editor wishes to display the long black dolphin head whose inner iron chasm would boudoir [wood booed war] the camel-footed hunting waltzes of Vulcan's low meteors, the French, The Amer-amicans, The Protoctistans, The Floaties, The Vitamins, The Verizons, and the divine symbol of Carnival in the pink and black framed Gold Key 90259-508:



In Donald Hall's Contemporary Poetry my wife's dream read as followed:

A Nightmare.

At first we were American Indians, and we were also Tumbleweeds, like in the comics, and we were shopping for used cellphones. We each bought a good-looking cellphone, and we were good. We saw ourselves like in the Tumbleweeds comic, and also unknown to us we spoke like offensive TV Indians. Like I'd say, "Ugh, this cellphone get heap good reception, get many hours call-time, still look new.." So we'd talk like this, she said, but while we were driving we saw someone we did not know was Tom Clark, and also we were in Tulsa and saw Ron Padgett too. Then, and I think the car was an ancient hybrid Pontiac of many nations, and perhaps furred with liminal bacterium. Then the nightmare part happened. Verizon called and said we owed a lot of money, and you heard me say, "Honey, Verizon has called and said I own heap big bill for calling back to the ship from the Death Planet.." Then something just sucked
me out the window. It was like a Verizon tractor beam just came and took me out of my Pontiac Tumbleweed offensive dream space. And I heard my wife gasp in shock, and then begin to laugh.

A Joke.

It might be said that I only really thoroughly enjoyed the performance of Paumier in his candlemass bear suit. He strolled in, and in 1580, there weren't alot of rural Buddhist drapers and carders, and just sat down in the wrong chair and really just pissed everyone off, but really, this rural pro-talk-tissytan Buddhist Carnival Key [STOP] was thinking right along with Tom Clark:

the tiny nude lotions
no dough left (The Romans uprising, remember?)
everything clear in a dream-sieving light

DECLARATIVE!

and the trees of a beloved death planet attacked us
forming a collar that pressed
down into its body of passionate blood oranges
the autumnal districts of its eye, so strict
with Christian fleshes ready to suffer the cannibal
knashing Tumbleweed:

Agression was not the only meaning of the flail dance.
Flails, rakes, and brooms were also part of the traditional
dance performed at the end of the wheat-growing cycle [...]

The flail-bearers, enacting the death of an annual cycle - the sowing,
sprouting, psychology, harvesting, and finally, the beating of the grain
'to death' - were also the dancers of death itself, Tom Clark is going to
school in France or in America to make a killing. They carried flails
for threshing wheat dressed in shrouds with others who cried that
before three days were out the flesh of Christians would sell for six
deniers the pound...

A dog barks - well, flarf! you pull the chord attached to the monstruary
the butt-plug bell that rings utterly somewhere else
Perhaps the chord is ringing
and you are a Vulcan cellphone official
Donald Hall published himself:

The musk-ox-dolphin
with pan-Dauphine ambitions
smells in his "long head"
the dolichocephalic
or "Illyrical" to whit:

Illyrians as Dorians

Carleton S. Coon claimed there was a connection between
the Illyrians and the Dorians based on his anthropological
analyses of the Albanian and Montenegrin population as well
as the Sfakian population in Crete. Coon discovered that
Montenegro and Albania is highly concentrated Illyrian racial
zone and that the Sfakians are directly descended from Doric
tribes that invaded Crete from the direction of Macedonia
and Illyria. Moreover, he stated that Albanians, Montenegrins
and Sfakians shared many similarities in stature, appearance,
language, national costume, belligerent tendencies, tribal
orders and vendettas my

boat coming
When I feel Kirk
like a heavy cock
in my cellphone
intent, heavily breathing
out whatever orders

[dumbass]

the oars make wings

ort
ord

'place-word-food'

in the white noise night

William Burroughs and Edmonde de Goncourt
both said something similiar

"It's closing time, gentlemen.."
And Norman O. Brown has a book called that:

IN 1959 Norman O. Brown published Life Against Death, an
attempt to take Freud's principles beyond Freud, to explain how
man had been enchained by his rDressions, and how he might be
a cellphone amoeba index.

It
is
light [c],

lo,

sing time,
sing to me (mi):

the fun earl (oily toes) ode:

music to music
odd to odd
gas to gas

Dearly P-loving,

Godillot Godwin Gonse Gide Flament
Gouloubeff Gil Girardin Grey Flers

Venny Vente' Dandy
Grinding Grande' Grandee

I rowed past towns
in their black sleeptones
to come here

I rowed
I wrote

wave roe omen
ah ten

the musk-ox dolphin
in the wheat flask
of Romans