slim prophet of the margin

and lo it came to pass that in those days

men could sing certain things into being

and that these beings walked on this earth with those men

strange loveliness o my Talitha..!

the last days of Assyria the imperial measured fall into histories of abyss

the dragon the lynx the female chimerae the winged bull

beautiful monstrosity un-statued marble eye

the crown of all india

the graceless whining of century upon century

the forgiveness we are unable to muster

the cloaked place in the woods where we meet and fuck

the mirror catches sight of some dreadful little pig; an involuntary shudder

the far sighted archer apollo himself the prince of all musicians

why! he guides these song weapons home driven into the idiot hearts of the hoi polloi

why! he has visited me in dream and laughed at my useless offerings

why! i am remade in his image now somehow i can hear him

the words drop out of the sky like birds of burden

my crash oh behold its necessity yonder as ungrateful slurs and spleen

baby lonely in babylonian embrace

i pictured it as the empress in the gutter on her knees

i am a mere poet i record these scenes and forget them

i resurface again and again in the worlds that are out there

we all do

but some cannot listen

but i do!