Monday, June 17, 2013

Terrace of Unintelligibility

a baby lion grows
where the island goes

my general feeling is dogged, but life is poor.

For the transparency, murk, for culture, columns.

Does it mime attachment?
What grows?

in wet hair, the cyclops.
in the miniature,
the mass
toy answers.

if you ever get there,
answer for me too.

grace piles up, but my armor has lyre-strings mounted around the faceplate
which reach down to a bridge at the stomach flange.
No longer.
Is Persia.
In our Hearts.
lion island.

Christ rode a mule across the waters
at the mouth of deception island.

At first my topiary Mayan pyramid was not enjoyed by the neighbors, but slowly
they came to appreciate my careful grooming of its slopes, the way I placed
the solemn priest at its summit, the squirrel heads I piled up in tribute at its base.

This is the darkness I brought down on us all
as disco. -Carlo Levi (Fear of Freedom)