from July:


It was a tawny copperhead world-deep
in a tangle of choking vines in the moist
hanging gardens over babbling stems of
moldering books in a greenhouse a pen

charcoaled your frozen forms and a whisper
wanted to embrace me through the endless
waste of frittering time (present stencilled
intimate brakes) until a spare spear-spirit

like a salience in the armored swamps of July
began to build for me this doubled arc
of a dangled green or jasper Dirac radio
to carry its tacked-on vernal missile

and it is possible to experience events now
that will in part be an effect of my future
resolves by making a round trip
on a rocket ship in a sufficiently wide

maison? Mais non, NoƩ! May we? Wheee...
bring the Jubilee out of Willie's blues
by way of a Technicolor Time Sub (used)
or mobius clock through a Birch Clump Cylinder

down the River Road? Through the stubby
singularity pool of a snail's wombhole?
The future is all hieroglyphical lumbers
ultraluminal "Beep" spooky but sweet keen

smell pressed among advanced waves of a
mad worldline cruise-saint looping close now
as Buckaroo Bonzai's old friends across time
go alley oop a-brim with dense evidence

of the man who folded himself (asymmetrical
rabbit) into a symmetrical hat and Hugo
Gernsback and becomes her sylph. Arghgh!
Poe, again! Whitman, attached! – helendrigauss!


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