Friday, April 04, 2008


around the well bodies
circled peering

pulsed and pearled
their budding song

to suffer this
in place, awaiting


furled in stay






tarry, carrier

then fly,

while we

ill in tolerance the west
circles as time stuck
stockpiles a conic stand:

high olympus
heads off home


Olympus is a big canonical dick that spurts out
medals (and occasional cantos) celebrating the
deeds of singular and heroic individuals. Believed
to be contracted by excessive handling of these
medals in the course of their exchange for new
and Chinese Orange Counties, overseas development,
oil fields and advertising dollars, Olympism is a
condition in which this dick sprouts from the public
foreheads of Snopeses as they invoke their gods
against the CNN syndrome, where gore-spattered
photographs render us incapable of distinguishing
between politics (the intermarriages of these gods)
and elementary realism (the desire to keep our blood
inside our bodies). “You can buy them critters if you
want to,” he said, “but me, I’d just as soon buy a tiger
or a rattlesnake. And if a Snopes offered me either
one of them, I would be afraid to touch it for fear it
would turn out to be a painted dog or a piece of
garden hose when I went up to take possession of it.”
At five o’clock the Texan will have crumpled the third
paper carton and dropped it to the earth beneath him,
and all but two of the deadly ponies will have been sold
for sums ranging from three dollars to six hundred
million dollars. We are between, abiding, waiting to
discover with whom we will have turned out in droves
to identify. A masked chorus fills the screen for hours
with the introduction to song.

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