Cantos XI-XII by Teg George

Canto XI

 

 

the god breathes on the chariot

            and the axle turns like the god’s spine

upon itself until the wheel

 

            rides the earth spinning then revolving

over and upon itself and breaks

            so that races can demob

 

divinity buried with the chariot’s wheel

            cohorts run over now by knights

mounted on winged horses

 

            breathing again within campaigns in the East

Dasius’ namesake buried by the Danube

            progenitor entombed in maybe Vukovar

 

or Dalj--no script bears witness yet a diploma

            graved in bronze carries some

of Nero’s breath even into Parthia  [into Illyricum]

 

            Pannonian reinforcements sent to Syria

perhaps destroying

            the temples throughout time

 

Dušanic sd/ the cavalry was more useful

            in most campaigns

than the auxiliary infantry

 

            gravity leaks into the fifth dimension

Nima sd/                      Age of Aquarius

            not to incriminate myself

 

"Scaling up to 512 CPU's is pretty damn studly," sd/ Torvalds.

            "Putting twenty of them in a cluster and making them

programmable as a single machine is pretty hot."

 

            I wish we could

possibly be together            the sweet fragrance of your

            clothes

 

not to king my last row

            barley hops and yeast

alios age incitatos

 

            alios age rabidos

Mr. Cartier-Bresson sd/ “For me, the passion

            is to look, to look, to look.”

 

furniture equipment and leasehold improvements are carried

            at cost less accumulated depreciation and amortization

depreciation of furniture and equipment is provided over

 

            the estimated lives of the respective assets

on a straight-line basis amortization of leasehold improvements

            is provided over the lesser of the estimated useful life

 

of the improvement or the life of the lease on a straight-line

            basis no assets were removed in 2003 or 2002

now your husband sleeps content

 

            come out and greet his friends

gathered outside your windows

            come out and listen to our cheers

 

come out and lift your bodice

            so we can know the joys of marriage

without having to commit to its pain

 

            come out and sing your wedding song

come out and drum on the balcony’s spine

            drum on the balcony’s floor

 

come out with painted hair with curled hair

            with close clothes

dripping from joy in the marriage bed

 

            come out to greet your husband’s

friends’ wives whose joy overpowers

            even the grocer’s most fragrant cheeses

 

come out to cheer the wives who have

            not seen their husbands at night

lo these many years

 

            come out and shine come and dine

on your neighbors’ spleen for they thought

            you would never encourage him

 

never trap him never rope his scrawny

            limbs into the hammock of Hymen’s joy

boathouse on that same

 

            barnstorm        wearing a white

constellate            with the foreign instrumentation

            had been having            dry            the barman drew

 

IBS sd/ “I was, one might say, a solipsist

            long before I ever heard of the word.”

or if I don’t piss in the dough            I will never rise

 

            a bright flash of

light strikes my body fills it

            with makeup

 

if you don’t get out of dumbarton oaks

            it will swallow you alive

as russia swallowed poland

 

            only to have to regurgitate it whole

two centuries later                  Zguto give back what

            you have taken from me and I will

 

release you from dumbarton oaks

            you have my heart snared in your deep

black hair the curls enrapturing me

 

            with night the curls scented with your

pungent black berry rizzle how I long for release

            from spice made of black hair            bonds

 

even the Messiah’s hair could not

            entangle me as yours does if you

let me go I will allow you to pass

 

            even Satan’s tresses could not wrap

me as tightly as yours if you let me

            go you may marry the Mineola Mensch

 

but before I pass I set the stones

            to cover my retreat  do not move

them as my body’s rest deserves

 

            care as only these stones can provide

even love even love

            heavy in their protectiveness

 

weight given and weight taken tinier

            stones to fill the gaps and large ones

that roll untended to their places

 

            like disobedient malcontents shaped

finally by their proportions rather than

            their statures             sink them and they

 

rebound as the ground heaves from frost

            raise them and they fall from stones

unraveling their courses

 

            pebbles know nothing those boulders

forget they keep the secrets of the universe

            as well as my secrets engraved

 

with my bones so that only a soothsayer

            can toss my finger joints to discover

the truth so long unfleshed

 

            heaven must be hades

in the endless sea of

            memories

 

Canto XII

 

 

maybe Crispus was like Zorba

            in that he kicked ass on his father’s

behalf but his father could not

 

fathom his love of the zither

            so the instrument of their parting

“strummed once, twice, then hung”

 

sd/ Ankh-haf “I don’t think he’s

            ever grown up” and “I can’t be

a lumberjack” Molyneux sd/

 

Jimmy the Dane ate the blond hash

            before the rest of us could smoke it

then Ankh-haf the Vizier shat it

 

so we could smoke it again

            he asked that his last name be withheld

so he shite it

 

“the saddest thing in life is Harold

            Ramis and Bill Murray not getting

together for laughs anymore” sd/ Jimmy

 

            the sorrow I feel for Dasius

and Crispus is linked to my sadness

            at my mother’s passing

 

            both men served the emperor admirably

yet were sacrificed through some fluke

            of irrationality linked inexorably

 

            to the irrationality capturing mother’s

mind in Alzheimer’s            even the notion

            of a mind captured suffers

 

            from the irrationality of dualism

since no mind can be captured from our

            body which possesses it utterly

 

            and inseparably            even Yeats’

spiritus mundi is a laughable concept

            where the force suffuses us

 

            open other end            open other end

refrigerate after opening

            I only have eyes for you

 

trompe l’oeil cassus belli

            blood for oil

yellowcake for redman

 

yellowman for red velvet cake

            Ivan for Blue Man Group

harlequin for Pablo

 

Blue Boy for King George

            oxygen for Kerryman

nitrogen for Kennewick Man

 

NAGPRA blows Burke Museum

            NPCA blows Park Service

ARPA blows eBay

 

Dubyah munching Bologna rolled

            around marshmallows JH sd/

queer sushi for an emperor duck

 

emperor and Donald Ritchie rich

            beyond your dreams pit us against

each other ich bin laden mit Kriegkraft

 

            Seek not for the rock of gall

here it has departed            another multiverse

            blended unbegotten

 

            o nimis optato saeclorum tempore nati

bogus bogisatva guarding the door of the womb

            tell Avalokiteshvara to void clear light

 

            tell Uspensky the tomatoes are ripe

water them less and let the sun pull

            them to fullness as the temporal

 

            has temptations written in red

sauce around our eggplants called

            minds listen to folks from Parma

 

            deep in the fields sheep bleat joy

later written as cheese swept

            to high hardness and aged Latin

 

            body swapping works better

than brain bandying or so we’re

            told in Mary Shelley’s treatise

 

Easter wake            napalm Sunday

            island shift      volcano goddess

quake god            sea god            rhythm up up

 

for ages six to twelve to six

            deep healing  deep heat

langsam            Doctorsan       Nosun            No

 

Sinking god            rising god      simmer ten

            minutes until tender            god bone

gnawing god            barbecue goddess

 

charcoal manifestations            reed breather

            first world to the roof of the second

world drawn up up        rhythm fire goddess

 

Zorba set dharma at hearth stone

            burn with rain            dry in snow    bake

at 350 for 40 minutes until tooth

 

pick comes out clean then layer

            with cream cheese frosting and dot

with cherries and chocolate stars

 

            O mighty Bud ha

Giv us utmost lack

            ease our want

 

            below the hearth wood melts

below the hearth ash melts

            below the hearth swords melt

 

            Liv dharma deep within fire

Zorba deep            litany win

            fire            altar            man            woman

 

            sing w/o rain thundermouth

begin lack            begin want

            win swords melt dharma

 

            deep deep     sansui            high high

show fire            show snow

            melt dharma win altar

 

            Henry B. was hit in the head and killed

last weekend while coming about

            then knocked into the bay off Annapolis

 

where mines and tanks and planes

            and rich men who pit us against other

men that have no cow in W’s corral

 

where our next meal will come not

            from breasts not out of our sweat either

but from blood and steel welded

 

in disconnectedness         here we

            are split and split again            state

against state            poor vs. poor

 

“Holy shit!” sd/ Moskowitz “Everything

            is easy until you get to the Byzantine

Empire.  It’s impossible.  One

 

emperor is always killing the other,

            and everyone has five wives or three

husbands.  It’s very Byzantine.”

 

whether Constantine felt guilt

             (whether Bassus felt guilt)

damnatio memoriae            official dementia

 

 

Cantos I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
XII
XIII
XIV
XV
XVI
XVII
XVIII
XIX
XX
XXI