Canto VI
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what are these wheels that PB sprouts
from
stripped trees
as though hell hath no fury
as a wagon
scorned
but sprung from branches and twigs
these wheels
witness deformities and hazards
unspewed since Bosch
risque notes not a list
of soldiers on this Festos Disk
linear A or B or Z—
who’s to know it’s not alacrity’s
thallos
sweet lips wedded
small pecks
sealed with a kiss
then pressed into clay
before the cataclysm of 1628 BCE—
so as Elaine sd/ “What am I supposed to do?
Be
a shrinking violet?”
or as my Liebling sd/ “Cynicism is often the shamefaced
product of inexperience”
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Earth and air their order keep
And everlasting stars wheel on their way
Unchanged, may peace profound brood o'er
Vultures who wheel eddying round
Rowing with oars of wings
When they recovered their breath from the battle
And gazed in amazement at the water
The bones spake gator shi shi, baby
The bones spake crok shi shi, say
Da ima not play wit you no mo
Say leave the bones on the sand, baby
Leave the kayno kadeenyay, baby, say
Da ima not play wit you no mo
Daughters in Shakespeare have fools for fathers
My father’s inflections on my daughter’s face
Sufficient unto the day the evil thereof
Mycenaean Linear Script B
now was
linked to the calendar
to the eternally rolling wheel of
Time
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suppose one must make
story from
life
rather lines too pressed
like aspic
or duck at Elaine’s
rather lives too quiet
like neck
face or beer man
: Medici Boy in
1942-52
JC appropriates B’s Medici Princess in 1948
then the Medici Prince in 1952—
oil
water whether will shill for water oil
rotation invented 5500 years ago
rotary motion bip
bip
potter’s wheel thrown 3300 BCE
spinning
spindle play
shaft and socket open
circles
cue theme music
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really the
trees denuded
that PB hangs with cartwheels look more
than a little like bones forking up from hills
like whales beached on Acheron’s shore
misbegotten
as though through the lens of Roger
Fenton
the mind of
Tennyson, the idiocy of war
not limited to Crimea but into present
Indochine
and Mesopotamia—
: confusion fear
terror confusion—
abhorred by the god
all of us abandoned
to our own machines
joyless
swinging hung
from trestles as a warning to those
who would
occupy any land
: as Hecuba can lose
so can she thrill—
so can she
curse blind Polymestor
urging on his children DEAD
so that even Euripides will bend to pity
our god’s
machine
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And now it becomes death preserved as class—
The ostentations of vehicular
Prowess versus an auto-da-fé of sass—
Bad tires, worse chassis, tempered particulars,
Worthless roofs, sad CAFE, enfilading
Leases, fleet depreciation, mylar
Car coats because the thing won’t be fitting
In the garage, all wheel drive masquerades
As traction control wicked ice skating—
Name it Cayenne, Escape, or Lemonade,
The price points are taller than the axle
Height: much far
above average put paids
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11 11 keeps recurring but one musn’t pay
too much attention otherwise they tie you to a telephone
pole
and shoot you full of arrows like St. Sebastian
then who’ll be there to pull the shafts
and for fuck’s sake don’t go prancing back to the Emperor
bragging that he can’t kill shit where you’re concerned
or he’ll toss you off a cliff or something
even PB knew not to make such a big thing
but bury it all in the background
like St. Paul’s conversion where you can barely see him
fallen off his horse surrounded by these guys wearing
conquistador’s helmets—
it pays not to send
youths to the deli for pastrami
they’ll never appreciate it
better to give them burgers or wieners
: the freezer has it
Chan used to say
: Golden Cadillac lens
and a machine gun
both can shoot but only one gives the portrait—
Alfred and his fettuccine
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does the
boson have the Buddha nature?
mu—
breath supercooled
words fall
in like US Marines at 8th and I
words line up
march right into Henry’s paragraphs
thicken
stall English
garden
shut gate politesse
but no Ambassadors
nothing if not desultory
perfunctory
phrases not in the cards
so to speak
not
through this hedgerow