Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Fierce, The Trembling Lisp

The southern wall of this chamber is now
provided with three windows and a doorway,
all of which are open to the cool fall air
whose name is flowing throughout
the world's early flame, Mars stripped
of his armor must pass before those less
fortunate, the Ultors in their bracteolums
of Marsyasian sinew all aflay.

From the outside, the square, savage mass
of masonry traces the forms of madness
to their origin, paper windows, pushed it open
with a jerk, and stepped out into the garden,
far from all this, from the strife and men and
women — A form came out of the shadow;
a little red light burnt high up in its blackness,
Saturn alone in the eve of banking, the purple
coasting of ivy, a shudder, our lips disposed of
behind a wall of brightly stylized tendrils
as all is growthy in the mourn of the ages,
and in such mixed halls do her slippers
feel the prate.

God what hair shining through its paper halls,
skinned letters they sign to you, all torsion,
and rubbing, and shaded characters, dark
tusks that rotate between brass cannisters
to frame the windows as a hush where the
cool fall air is pushed out into the garden,
each shadow a transparent balloon, or
finely polished baleen the silk skeletons
wear in language.

Mars, a garden.
Saturn, a bank.
The rest, like sandstone
mantled in grass are fed
to a weird and busy humm,
It has a narrow window
high up in its eastern wall,
and there are traces of another
laying them and the volume by,
he rose from his seat, pressed petals
they shown, from inside its insane hair
and moving with heavy tread to the long
and snaking window drew back the curtain and
founded a building called by the name

deluded wretch

He made noises, as usual, that reminded her
of the sound her bright insane hair, of Marsyas
commenting, where the window must move
freely through the wall, a bubble in the zither
of bird-filled beards, the weird and bossy dome
of its Tagus and Pactolusian roll, a watch
through the night with buckets,
for the idol must be protected against the
coarse painting of the shipwreck
which pity fed to the fleeing window,
pressed petals, he rose.

The naked cynic looks beautiful
in the earthen tub in which the mass
of blind wall, the slits of loopholes,
and the solitary door perched high up
in its centre give full view, an air
moves through the name where
the fall sits in the fleeting taste,
Nature and Wisdom
are never at strife
being one.