Tuesday, March 11, 2014

The Unspeakable Flames of the Semiotic Tyrant Roamed the Heights of Remus

Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis vidi in ampulla pendere, 
et cum illi pueri dicerent: Σίβυλλα τί θέλεις; respondebat illa: ἀποθανεῖν θέλω.* 

and Petronius, now dead in Cumae,
but the Sibylline Books not yet charred,
still, the symbol, still the leaves, but the gust
setting forth its fiction by mixing, that he was
the Arbiter tumultum of the head of Trimalchio,
whose eyes, Seneca and Lucan, were grey
as the swollen bellies of ticks, and glowed
amidst the ruborous ambago, and rumourous
bile, the whole leaf, as if its chyle, Catachthonion,
some leaning tower misheard, a voice from a jar,
a cellphone, numbers panicked flat

*"For I indeed once saw with my own eyes the Sibyl at Cumae hanging in her jar, and when the boys asked her, 'Sibyl, what do you want?' she answered 'I want to die'."

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