At the Musarium [21301 – 21400]

[21301 – 21400]

An octopus of giggles, an idyll
of gel, webbed & compliant (as inside
a macintosh), as gestation nears,
Eva shucks her metamorphic questing
at the jamb to eyewitness snow-capped
Napoli outdid by a parallax
of deforestation. “Salaam, Bournemouth!
Salaam, Wallachia! I lampoon you,
here at the trapdoor of yet another
cathartic arabesque—you who brandish
egotistic contravention, the togs
that permeate & ping, that blab & blab,
for how you unearth lethal laager &
pimp seminal flotsam spirally in
immanent tweeds.”

Composed: 11-28-15


At the Musarium [10801 – 10900]

[10801 – 10900]
for Irving

The supple & subtle vicissitudes
of metaphor, as dispensed so bluntly
by Dunbar’s cherry & Joyce’s peach, here
& there afoot like a sonorous
drunkard: they’ll conjure penitence out of
the penniless diction of mercenary
noblemen for their oblong usages;
they’ll sprinkle a presumptuous loathing
surpassing the tyrannical nucleus
of consummation; they’ll stumble along
the highways, past flattened Munich, past the
upturned shipwreck of enlightenment, to
exhaust the workings of the translator &
evade him with pitiable finery.

Composed: 11-21-15

AT THE MUSARIUM [10301 – 10400]

[10301 – 10400]

To the observant journalist: yours is
but a hapless unrest, out-bewildering
the droll clamor of camera with its
precipitous aperture as they all
runaway–youngster & olden ones,
Meredith & Carlos & Celia–
from the gall & ripple of partisan
compulsion that spiral momentarily
about this tattered mecca & priceless
Oz, dangling your flowery bouquet
of contradiction in the transmission
of winter’s peremptory lamentation
& tangible infirmity, the chronic
outlaw glimmering toward which your
dowry of prodigal verbs can but aspire.

Composed: 11-14-15