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
