|
From Moonshine viii
In the Wilderness of Being
the communal piano
was dragged dampiered through the waves
in its bread and ecstasy
SO SO
SO HA HA HAHA
and there were new algebras
like Avogadro’s number
and almuchabala too.
There followed a Great Winter
and daylight was a whisper
that was just inertly there;
mass began gently to glow:
‘le ciel était charmant.’
O had not moved all this while,
for a diuturnity,
her mail was redirected
to 1000 Manuka Road
in the capital of Oort
(which some scholars call ‘Po’ though
others refer to ‘Ao’
= Existenzialia/
The Shadow of the Mundane),
but now she could feel Whoosh was
near, Crabs had dropt from the sky!
There could be no more delay,
this was now the wished-for day—
the choreographic poem:
He’s my
O’Jerusalem and I’m his Po!
She arrayed herself in wild
sulphur silks, a spangly jupe
and violine boarskin boots,
took three paces into space
fantastic, fatal whirling
as yet modest to a fault,
love gasoline rinsed her hair,
the moon shimmed the morning sky
peopled with its wheeling zoo,
the light of chandeliers
made it phosphorus-finger’d —
‘ka kha,’ crayed the blinded crow
who had been her allallu...
|
