Old King Thomas Cole and the Wandering June (Heat Wave Corollary)

inside of its serene and looming gelatinous head

I beheld a curious toy of candy

with wild and flowing mutton chops

and a pompadour of optical chimericality

reminiscent of a praying mantis

of 'striped fire'

and below this head-dress

I saw the hollering head

its one flat tooth angled outward

and the head Popeye like

but somehow Hungarian

but with a 'checkered bandito string mustache'

which somehow encoded the tale

of Thomas Cole's meeting with the portrait painter

known only as Stein, a wanderer, and germane

to the fit as a fiddle boy who give earth

the Hudson River School,

the American Grotesk.

No sense of other, no sense of self, Marsyas and Apollo both captured by the Alien-Han hybrids,

their infinite jester 'skinning the flute' Magyar style, and dressed in dyed buck, their helmets like soft suede crocodiles inlaid with snail glass.

The world tree in a jug

transformed

into a white, red-eared

hound.

"We must indeed rather be convinced by the effects of our own arguments, for we are the origin of all matter." -He came to me slowly proffering rewards for hard service in toil.

The Wit's brain is a rudder, the color of steering, that hierarchy castes no shadow vvagguely is the sign of its reticence, neatly ordering the braun by nearby echo to tassle, or taste, or for the house of Psybure, for the censor to waste, these common articles

of plain, as wrapped around a bell in bellicose and cozy pranciple.

ID before ID

and DION

before the fall, trace out the list of revolts,

trace out the list of quellings.

Red Rover,

Red Rover,

a quantum clover loaf toad.

"Big Bell Genes"

More numinous than Jesus, Strindberg in his youth learned to bellow

as Carpocrates' jarring maw, words both followers and awe:

"Are they going out, or coming in?"

Stringberg subtly issues the DELTA.

As Jesus I walked as a Scotsman, high collar

and rubber duster.

My cuffs are crusted in sugar and bugs,

and my mustache is sprinkled 

with Absinthe.

I adore this raitre, this spectre, this principle of growth

denatured by wild ululations from an unknown land

of towering runes and ladders.

-NOB

(Nous of Butterfly)

In oracular speech there is no desolation, for the oracle

identifies wholly and completely

with the singular body of matter,

and the indefinite formulas

of its progression, digestion,

pi-gestation,

gesturality.

pig.

I.

Negrow.

airborne.

serene.

pontification.

Gibburth.

coinage upon its confus-ed foam