O Scar!

for Ron Silliman and D.A. Pennebaker

destroy, she said,

its debt true ire

in the telling

for how are we to sleep together

this endless labor between us

the ever-constellating miracle,

anarchic peligrowth

or viewed a different way,

the same

language, escatology,

ludology verses narratology,

O my child, my precious canon..

And here in the hull of a vast romance,

its misplaced crook barely hinting, tasting,

oar if ^at^ 'spinal slippers'

the tart tang fart its artful imbroglio - woon

and hiss in leisure

*preak*

now to steam, a bronze and upright bell

with a backbone, or saxophone,

the ectoplasmic galleries

we enter

cool as orange skins

before the flash

steeped in disinterest,

our wealth is not social,

our means more feral,

lucid, vehement,

disturbed

Marat was a yellow solution

and Buck Rogers

any Summer day

alone with black chalk,

this javelin to the heart,

punctos

The Autumn of the Middle Ages