Tuesday, February 26, 2013

O Scar!

for Ron Silliman and D.A. Pennebaker



destroy, she said,
its debt true ire
in the telling


for how are we to sleep together


this endless labor between us


the ever-constellating miracle,
anarchic peligrowth


or viewed a different way,
the same


language, escatology,
ludology verses narratology,
O my child, my precious canon..


And here in the hull of a vast romance,
its misplaced crook barely hinting, tasting,
oar if ^at^ 'spinal slippers'


the tart tang fart its artful imbroglio - woon


and hiss in leisure
*preak*


now to steam, a bronze and upright bell
with a backbone, or saxophone,
the ectoplasmic galleries
we enter
cool as orange skins
before the flash


steeped in disinterest,
our wealth is not social,
our means more feral,
lucid, vehement,
disturbed


Marat was a yellow solution


and Buck Rogers
any Summer day
alone with black chalk,
this javelin to the heart,
punctos


The Autumn of the Middle Ages