i hear voices in the garden

i here them down
great slopes of smarag-a-
baize-a-baize i hear
a bezoar forming and
informing on the two
crooked muses who are
down there still
talking and talking
Ergot and Appiol
in somethinglike
a rococo quiver
i actually see the voices
two thin cones of sand
that death the draping
of semele and her
fishlegs ended in
thrashing roots
and they wash each other
in voices and the garden
guths a smarabag
and psyche is set aflame
hic jacet "it lives"
or something crooked
i feel crooked voices
in the derelict field
and both my feet are
on their bathron
which like an ode to a screw
is down there still
informing on the two
Ergot and Appiol
lungs in a windcage
long green causeways
punctuated in various times
by small and secret gardens
which obviously are accidents
(their voices say)
do they accept that world?
and its 'forms'?
or do they run?
just leaving these goats to mill?
as in a picture?
"Is this Cyborea?" Ergot cries
"Cyberia?" said Appiol

[vorcui havoror]
it said
carved beautifully
underneathe
the heavy stone entrails
that marked the entrance
to the cave


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