I. Rune of The Unbothered
There is by far no more greater convention of fashion than the halls lined with sucrose of our untimely Liberation.
The Earth is for the waking and walking. The walking and waking spin.
Grant them the shame on the ruff and overgrown variorum, and
Busts of sneak knightdoms of no objections, and reinforcements
All on the affairs of the burning warehouse; (Happiness on my path,
Eh…?? AGAIN! Happiness on my path, eh…?? AGAIN! Happiness
On my path… HEY!!) And the water-plants with their [Fashion of the head, happy.]
Graceful flat heads, all became part of him. [The head is distraction incarnate. HAPPY!]
…Protasius, Eros, Vaatu– lost in Madhya Pradesh– [The eyes, distraction incarnate.]
Erastes by the galleys of potencies and proprietary, [The smile, distraction recreate.]
Come get your four hours of Happiness. (This
Happiness is warm is warm on the inside.)
Then, go back to your little castle you didn’t
Help build. Then, go sit again on the table
Where the silverware is never not glistening. [The hands,]
Cautions the viators, the cutlers, the vandals [The slit of,]
And the courtesans. If you ever begin intrigued, [The thighs,]
Then intrigue yourself not the workshops in [The fatigued thighs,]
Soulful adiposity. The only thing worth entertaining [The wings,]
Is beauty. The only thing worth keeping is the ardor [The feather,]
Of the body… Warfaced scarlet! You who were hampered [The beak,]
By many aspirations, but hampered none with your drops [The corner,]
Of kindness!– Drops by nix!– Drool! Drool! Do you still keep [The flight,]
All your lines open? I keep all my lines open. The meticulous [The landing,]
Preparations of the blacksmiths mystique me. [The rising again, and]
How holy it is to heat and bend to create! I knew [The landing again.]
Of water and plants. You knew of fire, and fire [It is all distraction to]
Alone! (I heard you sit by the fire alone.) In your [Kindness of the head.]
Litter corner, do you see yourself as one of the four horsemen of kindness,
Of happiness? Or are you the graceful plant-water the horse walk on? In your
Halls, the holes all look the same. The sugar holes; the good holes; the unnerving, undeserving, unflattering, undeciding holes;
The bones for the holes; the holes with no homes, no bones; holes which no one calls; holes with no castles, or apart from castles;
Or were divided from because of the fall of their castles; the castles in the head, the head with too many cruel, meticulous downfalls.
The castleguard disappears when you’ve been distracted by the holes. The castle kicks you out. The forecast overhead you now, overheard you, how
The inn is for the waking and walking. The walking and waking spin.
The innkeeper disappears when you’ve been swallowed by the halls. The inn will have you now. The inn has you now.
II. Horse Runic
A distracted body; once perfect, once perfunctory–
(Just keeping getting inattentive, about those seven good years in the castle, top of the caste or whichever,
Flushed all right down the toilet makes the being want to kick. The despair is too much but also hilarious.)
Every distracted, disassembled body, effective. The echo itself– the neigh, the squawk– effective, inattentive.
Remember how they worship you. Remember how you worshipped the workshop of the self.
But Power never raises its voice. Power needs not to raise its voice. Only needs a hiss to make
The unmoving earth quiver– the kicker, the kicker
In resignation or retreat– in assembly, unification,
In ascension or defeat. The noble body, the holes of
The body– Walk that you may not know the structure
Of the castles and citadels. They fall, fall, fall. They do
So many flyovers like hundred harsh tails joined in a
Windsor knot. Worship the windsor knot not. Worship
The holes of the body not, and echo the neigh, the squawk.
…Distract yourself with the world. And if that isn’t enough distraction, then the afterworld, and the creators of that afterworld, perhaps. Remove your consciousness from your body. You are floating. It is floating.
Distract yourself with your determination. Echo it all back until most of Hadeses open their mouths.
The mouth of one Hades is a way to the castle. The tongue of one Hades is a stable. The throat of one
Hades is the draw-bridge. Learning to fly, temple to temple, is impossible to those who see not the
World like the veins of an alienated god.
…I would very much like to rest now, Mother. Mother, I heard
How you heard, how she heard, that my neighing is infuriating;
Scolding to the ear. The ear as hardworking as the feet; mine– as heavy,
As exposed, as closing, as a tavern. My ears, too, bray. Am perfectly afraid
If I stopped the sounds, if I stopped exposing myself to the sounds, then,
Then, you would hear me next, mumbling, faking the rest of my rests and resets
In the madhouse, checking boxes under boxes under one sappy inn… I’m King!
I bet that laughter only sounds good to you when the animal source is contributing only good to your only-perfect society. I bet you would very much like to hop onto my head, which is graceless now that it is footprinted and unsweet. Please stop telling her I was too perfect to stomp on back in 2014. I am still so far from being alienated. I am still the one operating under my own sting of the skin.