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

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,

Marat was a yellow solution

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

The Autumn of the Middle Ages