pink amoeba beast
you take the troad
to toad hull
fumana fumana
fou gou frou gao mu
mau fru
gu mau gumu fao
maugre
fumegre
grumefre
haumfgre
configurable partibeing
if we watch the Dunwich horror
and you look like Sandra Dee
I'd love to see
Ezra Pound reborn
in some weird Chthulu rite
Love to see the
monstrous elder gods
who seem like they must
be nothing but
a child's labored breathing
over protoctistan vistans
this weird burly shit
is so tired
so old
just watching the old
shit self
gobble itself up
in slow majestic fury
I'd love to build a golden calf house
comtrol vast cultus
with flick of wrist
I'd be a sweet discrete
and chaste Apollo
riding my lyre bike
high in the clouds
just creaming on weird thrums
in sanctified empty eternities
of beatific
fang
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For some reason Edmund Gorey drew Apollo for me at the end there. I expect the monstrous elder gods are actually office blocks. I like the lyre bike, a lot. Now I am going to go away and eat a sandwich. There has been no electricidad here for many hours, and I don't feel like catching up with my work now that there is. Or with anybody else's! All I want is a sandwich with mustard onions and relish - and I can get it, if I don't pussyfoot around any longer.
ReplyDeleteThanks for the poem and talk to you later -
Peter