In some sense the earth is a human body... in some nonsense, anyway....
On a sultry 16th, in the month of Caesar
I was ambling down by the Blind
King, on Wickenden –
betwixt the Golden Sheaf (or Fleece) &
her Sheep’s Clothing – like a raven
in wolf gear, or some Pierre
o’Cesca – like That Man there,
following his own tattoos into an Inchon
Dept. of the Interior.
Aboard the good ship Keep-U
(between Racquel & Rue –
achh...) skirting an ice curtain
somewhere... in a Wolsey red, mate.
Weaving around blind
shoals – paring bears in the Strait
below White Narrows (it was 1728).
I don’t know why ‘twas done.
The Inuit intuit none
of our designs. Split Diomede? Great.
They look you in your eye as though
you were in RI! Weird.
I only see weed (black widow’s
weed). A coffin exchange came through
the aerial, Mira – maybe
Keep the white slide
for video, Queequeg. That’s my knee.
Little Diomede Island (Ignaluk)