HOME | DD

Description
I - THE PASTURE

The traces of soot can be tasted in the mist
And barbarians have been known to flee
The tongues of air that taste the animals
And carry them to far, often, and away places.
The sky night’s sweat stifles the smell
On these Holy landscapes, and of themselves,
Dream on blind horses running above rivers.
They can eat the tall green grass or glide
Their heavy hooves hardly above a harlequin’s dream to jest his king’s court and exact his plan to appear a
Fool but to run like a horse
And in the end be said, too, “neigh
It is a fool’s fortune to run without tire
Or to neigh-say on a nice night ‘the bungalow is dropping the bungalow is drooping O weary we of the
child’s dream do we dance under the pale call of a yellow moon and
under the smells of the wind’s wild breath…,’
and are inebriated in shriveled Poseidon’s salty wine
under the whine of the withering stone men
who can’t walk under the stone weight
of the stare of the sliding shock-headed snakes.”
The same men who wed Infidels to their sly blades and in the end played Chess with Death
Who waved his hand, having drawn by chance on white,
And were then led along the slopes by this dread man.
The same men who drank from the cup, and claiming
holy asylum but thinking holy glory, took the cup. And hid it.
The same men who claimed to have divorced a sword from stone but were allied then, for advice,
Not with Polonius, the fool, but with Heresy,
Or rather, to say, not the tower whose hairy entrance was humble, but in the tower of the wise wizard!
Whose cunning could never dare upon Martin
But rather would go unknown, the two having never met,
And singing singing singing, he who chases
Not the sheep with a Crosier and wicked hat,
But his own wild-eyed fancies, delusions! Even
Wearing his own type of ‘wicked hat,’ the mad cap!
And it chases them all down holes for hysteria
Or a hobbit’s hope, who was then let down two holes,
And forced to rebuild again.

THUS is the horse justified, and so is he put to rest.

II - THE HORSE

About a horse we knew and was bold and big:
He, mighty horse, who did carry load of stone
After load of stone to build the same tower twice
But still was crumbled and he by it. Flies flew over
Head and it could not gallop, the fair horse could not
Gallop. But whinnied all the way. And these were
Christian men who did this deed upon the horse!
Gallop, gallop lad! The crowbar has a fell swoop
On the back of you! But no, the mighty legend
Was not yet laid down as it were, not in this story.
Gee…
Our Equuis friend was whipped and blinded first,
Forced to carry our lady Godiva tramp naked through a village,
Charged into battles and nigh killed with his friends,
Or on the modern ignorance of man, whole hooves removed as iron shoes
Or on the modern savagery of man, hidden horse heads chopped and in enemies beds—
The horse is condemned – behold! The pale horse rides in alone,
he is coming, and in that rides in with him is Death.

III - THE HARLEQUIN

The man laughs he is pious in the house of God, but he laughs.
He has dreamed of things naughty and in these dreams suffered from thirst.
OH, this man is tired of gagging. This man has long since slipped on the banana shaped hat.
He has slipped on his head. And he hurts. The man
Is silent, for he knows not the pleasures of the majesty. He is the eternal
Tramp and he wants to be ready. “Here I remain now higher than
The king, yet on the floor, yet higher than you, my sovereign king. I
Want to be ready.” He juggles diamonds and cuts his eyes
but the Purple is not Indigo. Orange, he is. Where he remains, the bells
of the cap jingle, he had a dream when he fell. The ballroom
glittered like the royal teeth of the sovereign leader or like the stars
in the kingdom. Reform! These are the ways to belief. Salvation!
Pah! only for the stars! Every great leader who has died is up there in the sky,
Has become a star. Pah! A chomping device for the infirm and a melodramatic
Exeunt for the devils with wands with ten fingers and ten toes: the men of magic and the sorcery of
making money and dancing cold fingers of terror on the backs of fakers.
The harlequin daintily tossed wood around the heretic’s mantel.
The harlequin gracefully placed the last stone upon the chest of the heretic.
The harlequin masterfully lowers the caged heretic to the deluge death-
A righteous baptism in the glory of the sinners, and the Harlequin stood
Proud as he was, the God’s executioner of the blasphemous. When the sun
A-gently sunk down, he was a-ready to hop-to, but had a-hopped a little higher
Than a-where the sun then a-lay. The brass buttons and bronze bells a-melted
And his suit came undone. The Harlequin’s cap had been singed, and the bells—
Melted into four lumps of dead metal.
They rang no longer of joy,
But rang by the hand that has allayed these mighty sins,
And by the terrible deed, fell naked, noiselessly into a sea and was
Seen by his admirers. But as he lay naked was seen as truly funny because this man
Was not lying naked because he could not bear the heat, he could not bear humility!
It wasn’t water where he fell, it was a birth, the water, a mask for the inhumane, and the water calms the
rancor of the foul thoughts of the foul Harlequin.
The dream was a dynamic fist ramming itself into his hapless heart, and he felt the impact
When he fell, he landed with his face towards a yellow moon, an animal’s eye glaring
to him as the last thing he saw; and when he fell, knew he his humour: when his sovereign majesty laughed, then ate, drank, and still committed to the secret orgies, and replaced our troubled Harlequin hero,
For the Harlequin was dead.
“I am ready to commit, my Father. A hand has allayed my sins and I have been reborn with dignity in the
house of God. We laugh, but not now, not in thine house. I am ready.”

IV - THE INFIDELS

A salute, raised like a flag, is upright
Only but in their hearts is it upside down.
Some of them stopped the motor of the world,
But none of these. Some say victims. Could say.
Say infidels. “once some men said
‘we who are about to die
salute you.’ The ones who stood were painted
red, then, and even later, too. All
died, in the hearts. But what else can be done
with these wicked men? Nothing,
this is quite agreeable, ‘yes,’ ‘capital.’”
Thrown out by brothers and fought, the brothers.
Silver suits, yellow cars, tainted red, bled with water.
“Goodness,” their open heads say, “Goodness,
never had I intended to be married in the eyes of Jesus—
he was throne to death, why I?”
“My head flails!”
The betrayer knew it, if they did, they would end the same,
and could simply pluck down them down like red apples,
but wouldn’t realize they have shut
the gates before
barring ‘these infidels’
and themselves
from, again, the gates of heaven.
“The messiah was X’ed, he turned to Infidelslam.”
White always makes the first move,
And hereupon has death drawn.

V - THE HERETIC

“And why then, should I, least of all people care what you,
The Least – of all people say, or like you – jest?”
Between arrogant eyelashes bled a Saintly rainbow
Under ornery eyes ridiculed by sun ray.
Of all the king and his men lies the kingdom for man,
About yet below a mess of egg, a mess of shell
Underneath rocks piled high up or down
Below water sucking up pneumonia till death,
Or atop the pyre along the end of man’s own hand flume.
There, there! Lay the Jew down. Paint some of the others red. Jesus! Joan! Ben! Rosa! Kent!
Where are you found now, holy tricksters? Merry Pranksters?
At the bottom of barrels in the ashes of burnt books.
“That is where, I will tell you!”
Your parts, smoldering under the barren waste of white ash lands
the eyes of the heckling Dr
hack! Gaul! Galt! Golum! Gallop! – with all the booze
meaning the jay-bird
both shot down from the same sky in the same back
but falling naked and noiselessly into the same water
as sails the Duke of Milan or the Kid Ick
and given to the same wine as the ignorant monster
whereas Truth is spoken and here revealed is the Heretic’s secret,
those tongues shooting out like a licking serpent,
and the serpent slithering away like the dying cry
(those monks made no noise!)
as having granted the final surprise,
on his fault, the decry
“My god my god! I a Juliet and how
then could thee have been dead to me when, I, devout
to thee needed thy Hand—saw not,
but to live like—and alone?!”
Like the thin green palm fronds were burnt,
So too the forlorn Hamlet.

Description
I - THE PASTURE

The traces of soot can be tasted in the mist
And barbarians have been known to flee
The tongues of air that taste the animals
And carry them to far, often, and away places.
The sky night’s sweat stifles the smell
On these Holy landscapes, and of themselves,
Dream on blind horses running above rivers.
They can eat the tall green grass or glide
Their heavy hooves hardly above a harlequin’s dream to jest his king’s court and exact his plan to appear a
Fool but to run like a horse
And in the end be said, too, “neigh
It is a fool’s fortune to run without tire
Or to neigh-say on a nice night ‘the bungalow is dropping the bungalow is drooping O weary we of the
child’s dream do we dance under the pale call of a yellow moon and
under the smells of the wind’s wild breath…,’
and are inebriated in shriveled Poseidon’s salty wine
under the whine of the withering stone men
who can’t walk under the stone weight
of the stare of the sliding shock-headed snakes.”
The same men who wed Infidels to their sly blades and in the end played Chess with Death
Who waved his hand, having drawn by chance on white,
And were then led along the slopes by this dread man.
The same men who drank from the cup, and claiming
holy asylum but thinking holy glory, took the cup. And hid it.
The same men who claimed to have divorced a sword from stone but were allied then, for advice,
Not with Polonius, the fool, but with Heresy,
Or rather, to say, not the tower whose hairy entrance was humble, but in the tower of the wise wizard!
Whose cunning could never dare upon Martin
But rather would go unknown, the two having never met,
And singing singing singing, he who chases
Not the sheep with a Crosier and wicked hat,
But his own wild-eyed fancies, delusions! Even
Wearing his own type of ‘wicked hat,’ the mad cap!
And it chases them all down holes for hysteria
Or a hobbit’s hope, who was then let down two holes,
And forced to rebuild again.

THUS is the horse justified, and so is he put to rest.

II - THE HORSE

About a horse we knew and was bold and big:
He, mighty horse, who did carry load of stone
After load of stone to build the same tower twice
But still was crumbled and he by it. Flies flew over
Head and it could not gallop, the fair horse could not
Gallop. But whinnied all the way. And these were
Christian men who did this deed upon the horse!
Gallop, gallop lad! The crowbar has a fell swoop
On the back of you! But no, the mighty legend
Was not yet laid down as it were, not in this story.
Gee…
Our Equuis friend was whipped and blinded first,
Forced to carry our lady Godiva tramp naked through a village,
Charged into battles and nigh killed with his friends,
Or on the modern ignorance of man, whole hooves removed as iron shoes
Or on the modern savagery of man, hidden horse heads chopped and in enemies beds—
The horse is condemned – behold! The pale horse rides in alone,
he is coming, and in that rides in with him is Death.

III - THE HARLEQUIN

The man laughs he is pious in the house of God, but he laughs.
He has dreamed of things naughty and in these dreams suffered from thirst.
OH, this man is tired of gagging. This man has long since slipped on the banana shaped hat.
He has slipped on his head. And he hurts. The man
Is silent, for he knows not the pleasures of the majesty. He is the eternal
Tramp and he wants to be ready. “Here I remain now higher than
The king, yet on the floor, yet higher than you, my sovereign king. I
Want to be ready.” He juggles diamonds and cuts his eyes
but the Purple is not Indigo. Orange, he is. Where he remains, the bells
of the cap jingle, he had a dream when he fell. The ballroom
glittered like the royal teeth of the sovereign leader or like the stars
in the kingdom. Reform! These are the ways to belief. Salvation!
Pah! only for the stars! Every great leader who has died is up there in the sky,
Has become a star. Pah! A chomping device for the infirm and a melodramatic
Exeunt for the devils with wands with ten fingers and ten toes: the men of magic and the sorcery of
making money and dancing cold fingers of terror on the backs of fakers.
The harlequin daintily tossed wood around the heretic’s mantel.
The harlequin gracefully placed the last stone upon the chest of the heretic.
The harlequin masterfully lowers the caged heretic to the deluge death-
A righteous baptism in the glory of the sinners, and the Harlequin stood
Proud as he was, the God’s executioner of the blasphemous. When the sun
A-gently sunk down, he was a-ready to hop-to, but had a-hopped a little higher
Than a-where the sun then a-lay. The brass buttons and bronze bells a-melted
And his suit came undone. The Harlequin’s cap had been singed, and the bells—
Melted into four lumps of dead metal.
They rang no longer of joy,
But rang by the hand that has allayed these mighty sins,
And by the terrible deed, fell naked, noiselessly into a sea and was
Seen by his admirers. But as he lay naked was seen as truly funny because this man
Was not lying naked because he could not bear the heat, he could not bear humility!
It wasn’t water where he fell, it was a birth, the water, a mask for the inhumane, and the water calms the
rancor of the foul thoughts of the foul Harlequin.
The dream was a dynamic fist ramming itself into his hapless heart, and he felt the impact
When he fell, he landed with his face towards a yellow moon, an animal’s eye glaring
to him as the last thing he saw; and when he fell, knew he his humour: when his sovereign majesty laughed, then ate, drank, and still committed to the secret orgies, and replaced our troubled Harlequin hero,
For the Harlequin was dead.
“I am ready to commit, my Father. A hand has allayed my sins and I have been reborn with dignity in the
house of God. We laugh, but not now, not in thine house. I am ready.”

IV - THE INFIDELS

A salute, raised like a flag, is upright
Only but in their hearts is it upside down.
Some of them stopped the motor of the world,
But none of these. Some say victims. Could say.
Say infidels. “once some men said
‘we who are about to die
salute you.’ The ones who stood were painted
red, then, and even later, too. All
died, in the hearts. But what else can be done
with these wicked men? Nothing,
this is quite agreeable, ‘yes,’ ‘capital.’”
Thrown out by brothers and fought, the brothers.
Silver suits, yellow cars, tainted red, bled with water.
“Goodness,” their open heads say, “Goodness,
never had I intended to be married in the eyes of Jesus—
he was throne to death, why I?”
“My head flails!”
The betrayer knew it, if they did, they would end the same,
and could simply pluck down them down like red apples,
but wouldn’t realize they have shut
the gates before
barring ‘these infidels’
and themselves
from, again, the gates of heaven.
“The messiah was X’ed, he turned to Infidelslam.”
White always makes the first move,
And hereupon has death drawn.

V - THE HERETIC

“And why then, should I, least of all people care what you,
The Least – of all people say, or like you – jest?”
Between arrogant eyelashes bled a Saintly rainbow
Under ornery eyes ridiculed by sun ray.
Of all the king and his men lies the kingdom for man,
About yet below a mess of egg, a mess of shell
Underneath rocks piled high up or down
Below water sucking up pneumonia till death,
Or atop the pyre along the end of man’s own hand flume.
There, there! Lay the Jew down. Paint some of the others red. Jesus! Joan! Ben! Rosa! Kent!
Where are you found now, holy tricksters? Merry Pranksters?
At the bottom of barrels in the ashes of burnt books.
“That is where, I will tell you!”
Your parts, smoldering under the barren waste of white ash lands
the eyes of the heckling Dr
hack! Gaul! Galt! Golum! Gallop! – with all the booze
meaning the jay-bird
both shot down from the same sky in the same back
but falling naked and noiselessly into the same water
as sails the Duke of Milan or the Kid Ick
and given to the same wine as the ignorant monster
whereas Truth is spoken and here revealed is the Heretic’s secret,
those tongues shooting out like a licking serpent,
and the serpent slithering away like the dying cry
(those monks made no noise!)
as having granted the final surprise,
on his fault, the decry
“My god my god! I a Juliet and how
then could thee have been dead to me when, I, devout
to thee needed thy Hand—saw not,
but to live like—and alone?!”
Like the thin green palm fronds were burnt,
So too the forlorn Hamlet.