Memories

Always, when I was young, I had a dream of being the
Invisible Man, but in my version, I had become, not
a great criminal, but a great xylophonist along the
lines of a Lionel Hampton. I would dress in a fabulous
green Tuxedo and play virtuosic songs intermixed
with marvelous comedic sound-effect inspired asides
aboard a 1940's cruise ship called _The Audacity_.
A favorite of the ladies, I would imagine myself
at crystalline bars having maritinis and making
trivivial conversersation with beautifullerene jigirls
of oldand irroyal bibifamilies. I would imagine
strange scenes of being invisible in those mansions
whose single theme
was the xylophone. I would imagine

those dark criminals
who would become my friends
whose xylophones

were the electromagnetic kind
the kind that hovered

I would imagine
all kinds of balloon snakes
entering and leaving my tuxedo
like a trainstation

in which I played
a song for each of the 48 States,
the cameras which could not hold the frame
the empty stares
of the critical apparatus
as 1 approaches infinity



the infinancial
realized intowardly
after it's elf

the flea
able to leap
from the concatenations
of my epaulets
into the seas
of my bees'
equation:



where

where p is the absolute pressure of the utterance; V is the volume; n is the amount of substance; R is the grotext constant; and T is the absolute subjectivity.

Beyond the nudity of David,
there is the invisibility of Quarles.

He perfectly expresses the conflection of

RI as WRY

the same way
that every character
is a Griffin.