Qints, Puarts, p, q, Qleases, Thanp
[+ the restless fury of haiku]
"a po blog comment field"
In Memory of
Algebra and Alcohol
http://www.phaneronoemikon.org/images/asy2.gif
The sowers of discord
and the promoters of
dissension maimed by
demons. Mohammed with
his chest torn open.
from the film L'Inferno (1911)
by Bertolini, Padovan, and Liguoro
"This is an ornamental wound,"
he said,
"built by unfeeling sympathy."
That Prometheus whose wound
was attached by a sacred animal
(sea for cake),
Haliaeetus leucocephalus,
and would roost in the minaret
of airy silence where seeming
sentences of willful electrons
leapt from its pregnant echo-
la (linear arrangement)
lia
shattering upon the shifting
body whose slow green fire
would lean against the blind
élan of windy sloping crags
and give such tender murmurs
which fell on forgers, alchemists,
and counterfeiters, all flowers
in the living beard or Cageless
Zoos of Times.
And they would make parks
in the crunchy hierarchy
of pleonasmic inkdom,
round as rosettes with
great hollow mosques
in the form of groaning
Prometheus, stained glass
windows perforating
his short sweet skin soul
somniloquy:
'To hear such wrangling is
a joy for vulgar minds.'
[Now an ancient and naked
man approaches with long
white beard and saggy huge
breasts, steering his lonely
Narrenschiff...]
"The fire is made of machines."
or bodies which explode into
rebel histories ( a land awash
with clicky puffers) blue knights
ignorant to the heaving
synergos of invisible lines
too rich for any picture.
Thuddenly...
(Poupee quivers)
"Mister, Can you wash this demon's
loincloth?"
{}
This little cat
covering her mouth
squinting:
6:35.
[+ the restless fury of haiku]
"a po blog comment field"
In Memory of
Algebra and Alcohol
http://www.phaneronoemikon.org/images/asy2.gif
The sowers of discord
and the promoters of
dissension maimed by
demons. Mohammed with
his chest torn open.
from the film L'Inferno (1911)
by Bertolini, Padovan, and Liguoro
"This is an ornamental wound,"
he said,
"built by unfeeling sympathy."
That Prometheus whose wound
was attached by a sacred animal
(sea for cake),
Haliaeetus leucocephalus,
and would roost in the minaret
of airy silence where seeming
sentences of willful electrons
leapt from its pregnant echo-
la (linear arrangement)
lia
shattering upon the shifting
body whose slow green fire
would lean against the blind
élan of windy sloping crags
and give such tender murmurs
which fell on forgers, alchemists,
and counterfeiters, all flowers
in the living beard or Cageless
Zoos of Times.
And they would make parks
in the crunchy hierarchy
of pleonasmic inkdom,
round as rosettes with
great hollow mosques
in the form of groaning
Prometheus, stained glass
windows perforating
his short sweet skin soul
somniloquy:
'To hear such wrangling is
a joy for vulgar minds.'
[Now an ancient and naked
man approaches with long
white beard and saggy huge
breasts, steering his lonely
Narrenschiff...]
"The fire is made of machines."
or bodies which explode into
rebel histories ( a land awash
with clicky puffers) blue knights
ignorant to the heaving
synergos of invisible lines
too rich for any picture.
Thuddenly...
(Poupee quivers)
"Mister, Can you wash this demon's
loincloth?"
{}
This little cat
covering her mouth
squinting:
6:35.
