Tuesday, July 31, 2012

O Bosom of Regret!

Oh, the rough beast slouches onward,
toward Bethlehem, or Betelgeuse, or
beyond, a clone of Nietzsche, but
a faun of genetics, too, modified
by a flu which inserted some aspects
of Artaud, and many else, who,
it seemed might bild a messianal
potion, embodied! 

What irony, that Yeats,
whose name like a grate
of parataxis should fill,
the mystery of the grille
of computation with
adamic knowledge
of the grotesque, in
a fit of disjunctive synthesis
to become Y-eats, indeed,
for every path taken
destroys another option,
and thus, we see,
another irony, that
action, is also called

And so, now let me be clear,
and do not fear, but just how
many of these rudimentary beings
know, that as canons go,
their Messiah is equated
to 'a rough beast'?

What a feast, for any scholar knows,
that under its clothes, the 'rough beast'
is just the cult of parenting,
and the beast itself
is birth, a very rough business
it can be said, for it puts
into the world's equation
ANOTHER HEAD, and by Jove,

Really? Well, 
perhaps it will all
work out in the end,
or won't, but, whatever
the outcome, it's
been great fun
thinking about
the possibilities
of a universe!

No comments:

Post a Comment

Irrony Observes The Earthing.