Terrace of Unintelligibility

a baby lion grows

where the island goes

my general feeling is dogged, but life is poor.

For the transparency, murk, for culture, columns.

Does it mime attachment?

Detachment?

What grows?

in wet hair, the cyclops.

in the miniature,

the mass

(persuasion)

toy answers.

if you ever get there,

answer for me too.

grace piles up, but my armor has lyre-strings mounted around the faceplate

which reach down to a bridge at the stomach flange.

No longer.

Is Persia.

In our Hearts.

lion island.

Christ rode a mule across the waters

at the mouth of deception island.

Shet-land.

At first my topiary Mayan pyramid was not enjoyed by the neighbors, but slowly

they came to appreciate my careful grooming of its slopes, the way I placed

the solemn priest at its summit, the squirrel heads I piled up in tribute at its base.

This is the darkness I brought down on us all

as disco. -Carlo Levi (Fear of Freedom)