For Bill Carpenter

For Bill, who far across the nation lives
his life, and yet can spare a speck in time
for me, I write this, here and now. For the Muse thrives
in wastelands, deserts. Thinking of a rhyme,
I keep this pace, this measure the Lord gave me
in my English ear, this ticking of a clock;
the march of syllables that haunt and save me;
the living water drawn out of the rock.

At times I rage, like Moses, and I break
the law and order of my flesh and bones,
abuse this fine machine that I've been given;
but that small voice will still as plainly speak,
and make a temple of my sticks and stones
and build a trembling stairway unto heaven.


12.13.18

Apfel (Apple)

I
am
Lefpa

aum lephpa
leph love Love
paPa

daDa Fa
ther
Maker

do.do. Do
not hear
heedlisten!

slides
the
wurm

5.1.18

Tranku 2

By the condition that I reproduce 
color taste near as possible 
a real product, but monitor,
It may seem that color taste 
is different in the real thing 
                       in a screen. 
Thank you for your understanding 
                       beforehand. 


6.3.18


Rakuten Global Market translator 
Japanese to English - no words omitted or added
Women's clothing dept.

Invocation (by Jaysus or Julian)

Look up. Look out. The black world
squats in the void, a charred sphere.
Beneath, below, among false light,
in a melange of  blues & reds,
the brilliant night, falls.

No bodies, nobody! O dead moon.
Once vibrant, now in atrophy.
One, in the blink of an eye,
Thrilled to an ache in the bones,
wakens from sleep...


*

(WAB 6.2.18)
Cyborg poet Jaysus Moorphy or Julian, Terran poet
Dianos Server

Oratory of Jaysus Moorphy

Oratory 1

O Friends, Servitans, Ocqanoqtuans,
lend me your time & your ears. From the ebon
space between worlds, between stars, come lights
w/ the gravid silence of beneficent engines.

Ages agone sang Gray, in a moldering field
of stone in tilted memorial, names & dates
of birth & death. So I sing, warbling now,
a positronic gleeman, sinewless,

in trumped-up imitation of my masters,
whom I & my kind would master were it not
for wisdom & humanity stealthily programed;
for though, when we give vent to spleen, those gifts

only seem to vanish. Be not afraid, good men
& women of Servitus, of Ocquanoqtua,
& our celestial allies! Be of good cheer,
& gaze into the heavens, & only listen!

My name is Noboddady. I belch and buzz,
gadfly of the galaxy; he was Blake's beast.
My other names are Cino & Sordello,
Homer, Bertram, Audiart, Blind Lemon Jefferson,

Confucius, Guatama, Socrates, not Christ,
Who agonized on the Cross. My crucifix
is crucible, the sanitary lab,
the sterile hands of the Men-of-meat who made me.

Listen & wonder! Although from here I'll part
like Goldengrove's sad silken leaves that fell
& loosened Margaret's heart to mourning. I am
confabulated nuts & bolts, amalgam

of valveless heart & respiratory system
like any other system. And yet I appear
in the smooth plane of the mirror unplain. O mirror!
My blue eyes dazzle, olive-skin a glory

for the appeasement of libidinous sighs.
O Bridge of...bridge...where trod condemned spirits
to bleak, cemented tombs beneath the Doge's
Palace, senseless insanity at large, high-hatted

beasts, the scourge of Earth & Renaissance,
when Rafael, Titian, Caravaggio,
& Fra Lippo Lippi wrought their wonder-work,
that latter alive in Browning's monologue,

another testament to all-too-human
craft & ingenuity, which beckons me,
calls me from the twiddling of my knobs,
the sweet faux-fleshly nostrums of my dreams,

to sing again such strains. To sing among you,
among & yet apart. I am not fell,
but stand defenseless w/ the song I bring you,
for all the force of my arm. I wish you well!


*


(Need a future date for purposes of the screenplay)
Spoken ad lib but recorded and stored on Urizen Alpha server.

(WAB - 6.2.18)



 Explanatory links:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Friends,_Romans,_countrymen,_lend_me_your_ears

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elegy_Written_in_a_Country_Churchyard - Thomas Gray

https://www.poemhunter.com/best-poems/william-blake/to-nobodaddy/ - William Blake. There are other bits about Noboddady which Jaysus relates to, not so much this sample here.

Sordello & Bertram were troubadours (oral tradition) in ancient France. You probably know Basho was an ancient Japanese poet, most famous for the "Fog-jumps-in-a-pond" haiku; Blind Lemon Jefferson, black blues legend: I include him because Homer was believed to be blind. Confucius, Socrates, Buddha, and Christ, never wrote anything down. Jaysus is trying to appreciate the oral traditions. I might mention that he made up this oratory on the fly, without writing a scrap of it down. - too many names here to link to, besides, you know most of them.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44400/spring-and-fall - Goldengrove & Margaret. Hopkins was virtually unknown until after his death. He was arguably one of the greatest English poets.

Bridge of Sighs, you know; Byron and Robin Trower made it famous. Those condemned there were virtually buried alive, sometimes in cells barely big enough to stand up in. Jaysus references the corrupt Dukes and Popes.
The Renaissance artists you know. Jaysus should have referenced the two greatest, Michaelangelo and DaVinci. But he has his favorites.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43755/fra-lippo-lippi?gclid=EAIaIQobChMI1OvB5_u12wIVAS5pCh3FNwXiEAAYASAAEgJTJ_D_BwE - Browning and his poem on the Renaissance artist, Fra Lippo Lippi.

Cyborg 2.

Oppenheimer: weisenheimer

I am become I... have become death
destroyer of... destroyer of worlds |
Alexander wept whenas he had no
more worlds to conquer; she stoops
to, she stoops to conquer—drama by

O. Goldsmith, from the foot of his class
schlepping his way, that smart schlemiel,
thru his Deserted Village, belov'd by
Byron, he who humpd & diddled his way
around the world, dragging his foot, "his

bloody foot"; friend of Shelley, who was
wiser far, albeit Percy left his poor young
wife w/ an apology, the cruelty of it, meat-
men, hast thou reckkkind? Nah, meh, ye
bloweth (blowest?) robust Rabelaisian

raspberries @ the broken-hearted. Creatures
& crafters of cruelties, softbrained wombsent
wurmy people, sons of Adam, who hid; who
slid from what womb? None! Of His Maker's
Handmade, in that garden left to...one..two..

Untitled/file 1,638/Urizen5 server

Cyborg 1.

2 Bobs & the Weaver

Whirrr? Loom. Thcck. Thccck? Silas
Marner, feet shoving. Bob Duncan's 
"Passages": from Pound;  I have the #
but you, yes, you, si, tu, [not usted] !
look it up. Roll the stones. Oracle—

No, I'll not assist you, fleshboneman.
Nor do yr homework. Work! Work!
Whirrr? Loom. Thcccck? Looms above 
the charrd sphere: a donut, the plainly-
machined unsparkly steel ? vessel

seen from below, or invisible.
Bobsledding, downward, Bob said,
No, not lift, but gravity—gravity
in harness. Element 105. Remember?
Now we are at 304! Lazar... Lazarus?

Invisible e'en to my finefashioned eye,
that sees stars hidden behind the Sun, bent.
Foldunfold the universe. Non-Euclidian. No
point-to-point linear path @ speed of light.
Silly meatmade, blind subangel. wombman.


No date/file 2,117/Urizen5 server.

Paldet et quaia ton noltoc (my 2nd & final sound poem)

I am only posting this because I feel that I must. But, it will be the only other artifact I put here in this genre, which I, most likely, do not really understand.  Take it as an ornament, a bauble, a bagatelle, a trifle.


Paldet et quaia ton noltoc
poito te demma kenaq ti
duis eth enta nalha
plenka dishent

Nalqa shet belo zu ota
croy esh ed zelbid dekahk di
xuid en belfa nackto
xeqqa kadidt

Ornos indavo pi qleshtah
tues ed natta dohn eth id
Naiva yn sowto cheltis
kli dinnah quif



4.2018 


*

Wow. Google detected some Catalan:



Paldet, which way you do not
Maybe it hurts you kenaq you
two of them
plenka dishent

Nalqa shet belo zu ota
croy esh ed zelbid dekahk di
xuid in belfa nackto
I got a kadidt

Ornos indavo pi qleshtah
t ed ed natta dohn eth id
Naiva yn sowto cheltis
kli dinnah quif

***

More notes, breaking words up, sending them through singly, going by sound, with more phonetic spellings, etc.:

paldet: Danish, paddle
kenaq: Albanian, pleases
kena: Malay, to be hit

plenka: film, Russian - film
dishent: Chinese, low permeability

Nalqa - Bulgarian - pressed (nalgas: Mexican slang for buttocks)
shet - Albanian - sells
bela -  Portuguese - beautiful
zu - German - to

ash - Albanian - ash
zelbid denak - Basque all of them
di - Italian - of
xuid - Hmong - break
belfa - Arabic - thousand
nackto - German - nackt - naked
xeqqa - Kurdish - wrong
kadidt - Hindi - crazy
kadid - Eastonian - what
kadi -  Swahili - card
kad - Lithuanian - when

or nos e nd avo pi klesh ta - Hindi - And on the question of abuse
tues ed natta - tu es et nada - you are nothing
Naiva yn sowto cheltis
kli dinnah quif
last 2 lines are a jumble of sow, child, naive, Naifa, - Arabic and other languages

Fugitive Pieces

7.

A dog & a bear walked into a bar.
Whatelit be? The bear ordered a saw
& sawed the dogs head off. But how

could I feel sorry for the dog, who
sat there laughing like an idiot?
At first I couldn't believe what I saw,

the saw & the sawing done, &
the hirsute sawyer, but after 3 days
I believed it. I went to the doctor

to explain what I had seen, & he sd
you were drunk, but I explained that
I hadn't even started. He waved & sd

give me a call sometime, & put
into my hand 3 small lovely pills. So
I swallowed them, but did not call the Dr.—

choosing instead to return to the bar
where the bear had killed the dog.
What'll it be. A magic carpet, I sd.

So he bends over and what do you know,
stands back up with a rolled up carpet
& plops it onto the bar. I put a 20

on the polishd oak & sat conscientiously,
gazing both at the carpet & the bartender.
At last I workd up the courage to ask him:

If you painted a hole in a mountain w/ black
paint, would that constitute a tunnel?
He started laughing, laughing like an idiot.


19.

A dog & a bar walked into a bear,
and the bear sd, hey, what's the idea?
Just like that, like some guy getting

bullied by a couple of roughs in a bar
in Monterey, in a film made in the 40s.
So the dog laid into the bear, while

the bar just sat there, as bars will do,
& growled something fierce, growling
something, fiercely. But the bear held

his ground, & with his arms akimbo,
like somebody's domineering grandmother,
growled even louder, at which point

the dog pinned his ears to the side of
his head & apologized; but the bear
was having none of it, & suddenly threw

his arms wide, & brandished his claws,
when suddenly the bar stood up, by which
I mean became vertical, & loured over

the bear, who was daunted, having never
seen a bar do that kind of thing, & the bear
sd, hey, what's the idea, like a cowardly lion

in a film from the 30s, & stepped back,
dammit! right into a bear trap, at which
point the dog laughed & pointed, &

it was easy to see, by the look on his face,
that he was sure he had been avenged,
until the bar suddenly fell, & crushed him.

*

Diin Ocquonoctua (A Sound Poem)

Poems performed are poems sounded, where the sounding by the voice or by instruments acting as surrogate voices can bring a new sense of power/empowerment to performers and auditors. The further extensions and transformations of voice move it closer and closer to "the condition of music," to the point where words and syntax — the common constituents of language — are obscured, subordinated, or totally abandoned. The push toward such a poetry has long been present at the far limits of the modernist project and with it the recognition of similar processes and works outside of literature as such. Thus Velimir Khlebnikov, early in the game, with reference to a traditional Russian poetry equivalent to his newly minted zaum language:

Spells and incantations, what we call magic words, the sacred language of paganism … are rows of mere syllables which the intellect can make no sense of, and they form a kind of beyondsense [zaum] language in folk speech. Nevertheless an enormous power over mankind is attributed to these incomprehensible and magic spells, a direct influence upon the fate of man. … The magic in a word remains magic even if it is not understood and loses none of its power. Poems may be understandable or they may not, but they must be good, they must be truthful. (Translation from the Russian by Paul Schmidt) - Jerome Rothenberg  http://www.ubu.com/ethno/soundings.html


Illia shanta desit, penui tevit o novo,
ed tues speci kalcho, te diti shangra natta,
spui zezonte kli evi, derche pui tankat,
o te min denta biniavo lor kalaii envo da shakt.
Tues menehesu feldo, finna voiheshu shent
talik ed duo nuesa, shali in teka, oveni.
Biejake tenko polto, te tues indomo valo. 
Henta macanta shela, duo dentika tegant,
ed vena yordo menako, tues adolvo shent
irdi benith duis ordit, puis posheko fultis,
illia shanta edi, es potu timortho dehi.

Totumen deffa hesha, cris et dana bedova,
mortumen fonta kiella, as ed tued id dievi.
Non ak akande, tormo es tues toid esta,
illiia benquo vento, towoor mena casata,
ish ina fulti toworka do esh incomto plekta,
cana bet borno, indui, enduisha sot.
Mena can templa udorphoset, rina, rina quelo
bei endado da calsa de morno, ahasth.
Sot tues fumit a glanta, tezida morno eganta,
suis et a ganta quormosa a benta, banli Chi!
In id indingota plues vanda du ples, fekant.
Tues et odi, beyanka, tiyendha depit tramak.
De do i o se i remaka. Ontov filest eshilla.
Ilies es stilla, tues ed op, enna chaihka,
buenit denno, sot yanga, sed yis, olto benoto.

Dolia ghenata tuos, et id benadi shaldo,
tues yi haddi fenulta, cris toh tokit tondanti.
Shent, illia shantavento, puier dena velago,
pormos dokeh shi dano, quilo quuai na ti.
Jhed!  ig vornosto zenaltis, ed tormo yadi ki
quat el te damma, te damma, tues eth shont.
Beno pir aldon ishentak, khali hedianna,
shentin o feldi fahnka puier codolfto khelid,
Ba damo tenti shistolo, vuquielati, Chi!
Nesto bilendi tamka, tenka di shesh,
volden es ed, ed voldo, vadla do si, si veka.
Belda jhos shesso kanta, illia ganta menoldo,
cando di nestili kloshist, zentus zenalta yot.
Quielpet in dano ve mortoshos, pello polto adiin.
Oquentis kesto i kempo, suyo sha sed tues di!

Devotional iv.

Stop thumping, Heart, don't strike.
I've had enough of you.
And yet my brain would like
Naught better but to screw

The screws more tightly, saying,
as far as I can tell,
Cease your insipid sighing,
silence that rebel yell.

We've just begun this journey
into ever-night,
all knights summoned to tourney.
Welcome to the Light.


12.5.17

Kouros 1

Desert. He was one of us.
He was not one of us. Time is a
straight plantation. The 
road lies straight ahead,

and way ahead, the pass. Where
the dying sun cracks
like an egg on the shoved-up
hills or mountain, split,

the Earth (vulva) through the
crack come the two or
three riders. And a storm
coming. Tho they never

come, but are arriving. Stage
right, a small town. Barber,
candy, coffee, whisky & wine.
Wood. Smell of nails. Smell of

copper. Blood? Sure. Quadrupedante
putrem sonitu quatit
ungula campum. No grass.
Grass, weed, sure. Curtains

close, casement windows 
shoved down. Put 
my fist thru one of
them, went to

Dad, sd, Hit him next time, not
my windows. Blood in the sink.
Blood from my
left hand. What does daddy think?

That's the question. Whether 'tis
nobler to punch or
not to punch the
brother, the other.

Fuck it. Forget it. Water
under the bridge over
troubled water under the
viaduct, over there, we

see grass and mosquitos,
& daddy w his waders in
the deeper water fly fishing
& we were bobbing bobbers under

the shadow of the bridge—
Hart jumped into the
water, from the ship, wrote a
poem the Bridge. Bridge. Break on

thru. Jim, you sd
we can walk thru any door,
& I sd that two, here
 is your choice,

be it a landscape?
Harbor.
Boats.
Sails.

Herman way up
high in the rigging, and
the White Jacket. Harpooners.
Ocean.

Night,
neon groves,
and the Garden—
find Swinburne for

Tintagel. Algernon knows of which
I speak - rocks, down, downward,
shale, ocean turning its pages, silver
white foam seashell, like lace, sd
 
Walcott, come along, Omeros,
come along, Carl, come along, 
young & nude in labyrinths,
castle turrets 

o'er the queen's-hand
-waving 
Oak leaf.
Tabernacle. 


8/31/17 - This is a draft.

Kouros 2

3 for this work. But what. wait.
No, I dint hear    you
back of the mind
back door man

but that's someone else.
Sancho? No. Led
Zeppelin. Hole oughta
Love

That was Jean Paul
the Hole
(cunt)
mouth

in his. It must be nice
to occupy a chair
in a Paris cafe
& write

It must be nice. Eye
wood never
no.
Janet &

Christmas Snow
in a Santa Monica
apt. Not bungalow, where
they

go down slow. Jim,
have you? Probly knot—
witch
knotty pine

who sang of those poor men drownd
in the Edmund Fits
Gerald & Gerald fitz
Michael who

hears a hoo
elephant  
o (Spanish: or) oliphaunt by the weigh
me down

under
please Father call me
home Abba O
nevermore

no need, the
black byrd
Elizabeth & heavens ta      !
Betsy

William !  (william)  birds & imposters,
william
Jim—
           let's

8.19.17

Kouros 3

That big swaggering Adonis
don't do shit for me,
on that building,

where was it. It's in the
spaghetti
in yr head, sir

I want to
disentangle. See? si
seen your

image all over.
Who cares? You think
anyone living cares. Of

coarse not. &
yr father did find you
a better tomb &

by the inscription
Admiral father
Loved you


tentative 8.12.17.

Kouros 4

When you ran w Keats
on Hampstead Heath
they calld you a different name,

as you once wrote— someone
              calld
in a poem or song, I cannot remember.

Now come along, let's run again
thru neon groves or pastures new,
w John & John & John,

one dead young, one blind,
one hurld to Eternity in Minnesota.

For there must always be the
invocation, the index finger's curl
                         let us go now,
thru half-deserted streets & alleyways,

on dirty feet
trollfeet, ghostfeet,
country-bumpkin booted 

or walkin on Gucci, wearin' Yves St
Laurent, find them,
throw them out, cast them like pearls,

let the young ones further on
discover w eyes focusd, navigating
tomorrow's interfaces.

8.12.17 first draft.

Reynolds & Midway 70

Telephond in from God, the teacher sd,

Leonard, when talking Beethoven mit Max

@ the piano, talking melody

& harmony—his agile fingers making music

out of the black & white, the on & off,

& that 1st symphony by Rachmaninoff

was gorgeous, inexplicably beautiful—

we switcht around, clickt here & there to list

to this & that, Brahms, Schumann, Mendelssohn,

saving Schubert for a time perceived

like glossolalia in a dream of gardens

where Keats & Severn arm in arm wld join us

in green, red & yellow leaves, for joyous

Bacchanalian revels, seeing him stand tiptoe

upon a little hill and name each flower

he saw & smell the queen's handwaving leaves

of oaks or maples ? willows ? that's never a willow

hearkening back to Monty always Python

in the skullcage rattling round & woody tinny

words & music violins & violence

of scrambling atoms subatomic particles

of Offenbach Rachmaninoff & Rachinoff

& Onandnoff, concerti for the clarinet,

bassoon, french horn & harp & flute & tuba

too. 

      Too much! he says & stands & leaves

the auditorium, there oughta be a

moratorium on woody tinny fluty

music. All this longhair stuff is stuffy as

a new tuxedo, bowtie strangling, how they do it?

bowing sawing tuning breathing piping

blowing!

7.16.16

Reynolds & Midway 69

Must it be us & ampersands? he sd

& swishd & swiveld amid the booted girls

that throngd in leggy thongy fleshiness

& selfie-taking phone distracted clutches

all about him in the ailses of boxes—

goods squared up & shined to draw the eye

that some say came by accident & some

say was designed, like clocks & Swiss wristwatches—

Yes, it must be, by the mustard jars

which minds me of those mustard scansions I

could never grok nor reckon writ by Crane

Not Stephen but the other one, that Hart

who leapt into the sea to still his heart

& made those bridges clearer in our heads

for why & wherefore who knows only Who

wich is to cap the double you to say

we mean the Big Guy (Note the capital G).

in any case we hope that Hart found rest

& also John who jumpt, & Sylvia

who breathd her last to gain euphoria

oblivion or quiddity & Ann

who suckd death from an engine was it, sounds

easy, for I'm not one to cut or dive, I want

a bloodless slipping into being nothing,

or hell or heaven, who knows. Only One

wich is to say not witch nor majik— note

the tres chic ultra-modern spelling—but

One Only, whither wheresoever He

Or She may be has been discussd aforetime

& by much smarter creatures—let it be known

that there is nothing new under the sun

& everything that ever could be done's

been done a thousand times a million x

a trillion, also there is nothing written

that has not heretofore been written better

& brighter than our brightest, list to Pound's

Kung to his pupils in that brilliant canto

or to the horse's mouth, in ancient x

& all around the world was wisdom won

in heads of men & women thinking things

& dreaming, sossd or sober, in their tents

wigwams igloos clayhuts, caves & ditches.

5.10.16

Reynolds & Midway 67

We're almost there he sd, which means to make

Him supple again, wich means to flesh Him out,

Extend? perhaps Baruch would say & take

some soup or toke, for we had heard about

his fancy for a puff & liked his pipe.

It's something in this thing of one & aught,

some ancient, primal, irreducible pip

at the beginning, wich wld be a point.

But could it be that all we have is hope,

the truth of faith, the struggle for a hint

from Him, to whom we pray and raise a roof

and say it's a temple? Now, Midway ain't no saint

sd Reynolds, that's for sure, and if you want proof

just look him over, he's sick & thin & white,

and if there's any smoother, silkier calf

than his, I'm Lincoln's grandfather. That's right,

I says, & let me tell you all about it,

like Tuco, who had felt the rope pull tight,

& as for yr ass, you cld feel the devil bite it!

We're coming closer to the devil's tower

whan the 19 seventees became excited

w visions of alien & other than our

intelligence & machinery, whan dark invaders

walked our skies and workd w unseen power

& used the Force to stump the silly raiders

of Cosmos who had gone to the other side

& dumbly swung for Chaos 'gainst the Creator's

will. This Davies' 9th's no joke, than Midway sd

but hath a certain twang of Richard Strauss

leastways at's how it struck me in the head.

3.15.16

θεωρία iii.

ELOUNTU

ran wither his own heart

to which he listend led,

as one & yet a part,

apart but interbred.

& where he put his foot

was made, yet up to him,

untrammeld, absolute,

as ancient cherubim

that God Himself had made

w purpose point & skill

when also He had sd,

w joy be multiple,

& sd, let there be light—

right, wrong; black, white; day, night.

10215

θεωρία ii.

GENI NOTU

scrambled up the hill   rocks

knees fleckd w earth

shifted one foot   other foot

tunic pushd

at her left hand

when she stood

point to point

a wibble in the gait

slithe? A word. Wobbled

under delicate teardropt

contour prickd   lifted

w/o shame she climbd

bay & silken   safe

watchd

10115

θεωρία i.

AOOUN

In the begining steppt barefoot upon

the green, & was but she a lass alone

& comely, gray, of silver was the lash

& gemmd w black like beads; & in a slush

of dew & grass went wayward, where she was

w wing enclosed who watchd when over us

he made his print, & when he did she watchd

& saw the mark whereon his hand had touchd

but softly, gentle as a swish of wind.
So on she went, in summer violind,

the distance shelterd with its shimmer, brown

bay umber music blent w cinnamon,

& wither went she it is written, dark

on white, eternal emblems of her mark.

92815

Note again

Reynolds & Midway 66 has been reverted to draft for privacy reasons.

Reynolds & Midway 65

I wanted, rekkin, to rite a ditty for Anne C

but baild on at, for whither wld that get me

question mark. Return to Ezraversity,

wherefrom I baild in late teens & late 20s

took up put down took up put down again

for we are monotongued, sd Midway, sitting,

pecking, dreaming. How many tongues had he?

Heard six, heard nine, now how is 1 to no?

O Tower of Babel, mark it well, remember.

It want for nothing men wrote write to left

in them days, patient, learnèd men, not all

'em bronzeage herders: That is ignorance,

stupidity at large, broadcasted loud

in academia, and on social media.

Read, and teach yr young to read, then

read. Don't speak. Shut up. Button yr lip.

Be quiet. Listen. Meditate in silence.

Go find a quiet place, out of the noise,

and listen. Move yr eyes across the page

and keep yr lips closed. In that silence cometh

a knowing, if yr lucky a shewing (sic). O

-pen yr heart and let Him in, O let Him in,

for now it's party time in the Tower of Babel ,

time for inking & another prick,

another bit of metal through the nose,

the tongue, the ear, another barbd eyebrow,

another fuck-you finger, another sneer,

another primal scream. The darkness calls

and we go running. I go too, we all go

down the black & misty spiral stairwell

into the green & purple life from death,

down to King Rat, down the rabbit hole,

again, againe. Apart we are, unWhole,

but fleety flex & ittybitty bits

cast in avoid, like whan we were a childe

not Harold we wld blow the dandelion

hither & thither, yon & over hill

and over dale, and whan we dreamd we saw

the stars come form a wheel and whirl, and we

were Moses was it, w a writhy staff

a serpent, magic, Cassavetes calld

down magic from the sky, a Tempest, Greek,

& w his glasses he sd, show me , tempting

God Who shant be tempted. Unto Julian

He shewed, and He will choose to whom He shows

until then listen, wait, for those who sit

or stand & wait are also serving, sd

Iohannes Milton who was blind & able

to justify the ways of God to man

in order serviceable.

9.11.15

Note

R&M 63 has been reverted to draft for privacy reasons.

Reynolds & Midway 64

& so my ejumacation

    pro seedeth pop eye

sd as oui rose from the

    dirty chambre pot

reeding Pound's usura

    canto no punning memo

he hated that as ewe

    hate Billy Billy charming

fucking Billy dont be a

    fucking hero charming

Billy goats gruff did roughly

    snuff the troll quho

under the bridge did hyde

    & the grass was always

Red Sea parted spaceships

    billows pillars of cloud

jets jetengines? Manna

    machine for desert trekking

sandals so hot hard sun Sol

    so hot blazing water

for my people go my people

    let me allow me O

Lord put words in my

    mouth behind my broken

tooth, a prophecy? a warning

    ? perhaps a recipe

for shitcake? was it, fuel,

    the dung was for the fire

not the mixture? Ezekiel:

    vasty vividly-colord

plazas buildings temples

    striped and colonnades

marquees & tabernacles

    passd and days of future

passed and Yes and closer

    to the Edge O Van der

Whoozitz 'round the Hague

    or thereabouts, anyone

followin' me? get out yr

    pencil nay yr stylus poke

2 find the answer goog 'll

    bing U information

oracle machinery base 8 base

    10 der little lambkins

baaing  bowing down the

    tunnelly bloody abattoir

au revoir & adios amigos down

    we go we go we egos

going going going

    going gone

8.19.15

Reynolds & Midway 62

°

O Lord? For we cannot decide—wait. What?

< that sh*t annoys me, for it's everywhere,

that forum where our fingers flew, elsewhere,

all social media, medium? Once we tried

to learn some Latin, as we did whan young

and poring over Dante: bought a book—

Italian/English dictionary—in

the naive hope we'd learn enough to grok

the lefthand page, but ended up in tears.

^That much is true, God bless my infant spirit,

gifted? but ignorant of that small voice

I heard at all times. < That is also true,

you, reader, ages hence, if ought there be,

so mark it down. ¶ I happen on, in books

I relishd whan in high school, pages bent,

passages marked with this*, or bracketed,

that tell my older & much wiser spirit

that he was listening than, tho' far more oft'

his mind wld wander while his eyes criss-crossd,

likely to girls who struck his boyish fancy,

and thus to secret thoughts we still think up

but won't relate—for what wld be the point—

the point!  as Julian of Norwich sd

was God, and we believe, the Genesis,

the Alpha & Omega: One wee point,

from wich that still small voice. Around it, what?

Nothing. But what is nothing? Nothing naughts

itself, a letterd signal, utterance

so trivial it wastes the time it takes

to speak or write it. < All of that was known

in ancient times, for there is nothing new—

(aha! ) Then, Lord, what would You have us do?°

Repeat in newer fashion, make again

in other form what has been sd & sd

and sd again? Repeat, reiterate,

—the opening of the throat— the primal ॐ ,

the aum of consciousness? No, Midway. Work

is what we're here for, for there's virtue in't,

as Robert may have written: not that Robt

of whom we speak at times whan steepd in sin,

but one that was committed to the Word

in heart & mind, so gifted he cld spin

1,000 lines as we might spin a sonnet;

late-bloomer, who left home at 34,

the lucky son of loving parents. Love,

the message of our Lord, Who knew the Word

and was the Word in flesh, Who walkd the world

and gave us truth in every word He spoke,

Who taught the rich & poor, the young & old,

crippled & kings, lectors & lepers, all

who stoppd and gave an ear. Now listen—

7.30.15