Reynolds & Midway XXV.

Walking side by side w death, the d'evil

does he? It has been sd, to speak of the d'evil
brings him, & may be true, as of an evening
I lay & made a breathèd challenge, cocky
& sure in the armor of Christ, when on the cusp—
I saw a face of horror: the wrappt phizzog
that seemd a mummy in a dapper suit,
a hotel lobby, at the desk, casual,
but for a flash: on the top of Lovecraft's
wispy stairs where madness rides the starwind,
close to the sound of consciousness abeyant,
the hisss, or buzz—of sleep. I mutterd, mocking,
then cried aloud, torn to the waking world.
My heart triphammerd: it was only Penny,
who leapt up on the bed, her black body
poisd in cat-alarm, her yellow eyes
big, her gray-streakt fur up, all á prickle.
Don't ask for trouble, keep yr head down, sidle
as one intent on giving no offense;
keep yr elbows in, & mind yr manners;
bid g'day & be polite to sheilas:
tip yr hat & never scry the tower
whereon the 2nd hand makes monstrous° tocks
as riot cometh on its terrible feet
wich jangle at the ankles, jewelld bellies
sinuous & swiveling, O dark,
O lovely Salome, come dance for me,
for us, come naked-middenlye & hair
long, black & flying, you of the forkt & sibilant
tongue that markest lust, duplicity,
the ancient clam'ring & reptilian voice
against the small and still; come shake,
come sway & shimmy, move thy money-maker,
bringer of joy & death, thou pigeon-toed
& nimble footed user of thighs that make
a perfect ass of themselves, that valentine heart
inverted, stinky harbinger of fun
and desolation, odoriferous moone
that fawning poets ode & on which hinges
life & death: birth y basura organs
placed nigh, a pair, to make a mess of things
for all most fain to look: the leering
onanist, the caught red-handed apes,
like Midway, who was of a sudden quiet
when Reynolds up & spoke, his small cigar
waning between his fingers: let us heap
our loud collective guilt upon these faire
& slinky lovelies; let us rain our hate
in public & in private, lest our young
be also dismayd, also connivd, trickt
of their senses & their money. Let us give
no quarter, never, once & for Chrissake
all: the little quivery moppets let us
hate with perfect hate unspoilt by Reason,
w chiseld hate, and salted with contempt
bound up w hate, like pharoahs dried in Egypt.
«Then shall we dig them up, unbury them,
unwrap them, and take careful note
of our undoing? For we're desecrators
at heart, & to a man: of graves & churches,
idols & icons, ruins & remains
of all our botherd and unresting dead
who make fit bullseyes 4 the slings & arrows
of man's complete corruption: For their lips
are seald, they cannot speak; their tongues
are lockd away, & they cannot defend.
Thus Midway, w his dull & heavy manhole
of a flapper, answerd himself.
And so the story goes: brother kills brother,
or at the least is at his neck
& on his back forever, in condign
concordia et chaos, ad infinitum;
in internecine strife & bloody battle
'neath hoode & robe, w cloak & ‡s'
pearly handles slipt in harborcoats;
w Janus-faces in the looking glass;
Narcissi | stuff it, now.
Lord, make me silent.


12.7.13


° I was not aware when I wrote this of the existence of a thing called a 'monstrance clock'. I was actually envisioning a Star Trek episode where the people on an earthlike planet go haywire, festival and medieval style, when the big public clock strikes a certain hour. The band Ghost has a cool song called "Monstrance Clock", but I'm askeert to listen to that amazingly talented band, since they are admittedly satanic, albeit I think they mean that term loosely, to refer to all things dark, rebellious, etc. Nonetheless, it is tricksy and quite risky business, in my opinion, praising that pussy satan and his creepy minions to millions of impressionable fans throughout the world. - William A Baurle 6.19.14