Enough is Enough!
A crack in the ant farm discombobulates the matrix, now tilted, now losing speed.
Cyclops sits at the tip of a chanting pinecone, his archaic inner eye scratched in the emergency.
A local physician, loyal to the mountain’s daughter, signs a prescription in cursive font elegant as a Hellenistic vase.
Enough is enough!
Now Zero/Freakshow!
Now climb yourself down into the ruins & rubble of The Narrative.
Tie your shoelaces to a ball & chain.
Throw yourself into the pit of echoes.
Into the echoes of a child’s musical instrument!
Surgeons sit broken in their spirits on pearlescent chairs.
Lock yourself behind a bolted iron door
as you fine-tune trajectories.
Now Zero/Freakshow! Now proclaim innocence washing your hands
like Pontius Pilate beneath a tilted undulating carnival mirror.
A Tower of Babel bone-blade fragment regurgitates up your throat.
Financial manipulators desecrate the mythological play-acting of children
assigning tokenized value to imaginative play.
& Elsewhere (forever there is an elsewhere)
others decide the shapeshifting wand!
Now in purpose become a falling star.
A falling star remembers Noah gazing into a deep azure sky.
A falling star remembers flash-floods of swirling froth & foam
in diagonal rivers of Gorgon-like rain.
A falling star remembers uncertainty is a certainty & pencils once broken
can never be forgotten.
& Elsewhere (forever there is an elsewhere)
others decide the shapeshifting wand!
Now in purpose become a bird of prey.
Howling into spinal columns like renegade DNA.
Today is the day of Renegade Beauty!
Now Zero/Freakshow!
Now a day you never imagined!
Nemesis engraved upon the karmic wheel.
Hubris returning in flight aimed like a boomerang.
Shadow wide as the wings of a pterodactyl.
Today is the day of Renegade Beauty!
A day to shriek! To thrash antediluvian wings!
A Renegade Beauty, unseen, fine-tunes vibrating frequencies, omnipresent as thunderous hooves of the bison herd,
kaleidoscopic as vast flocks of starlings morphing high in the sky, transmitted now invisibly, like radio waves,
like wine in the amphora passed hand to hand.
In vibrations of stringed instruments, in the harmony & purpose of clear seeing, in flatness upon the spherical cosmic aether.
& Sailing into & through & within cosmic aether engraving upon the wind. In wind engraved upon the colour yellow.
In the colour yellow & yellow-orange seen delightedly by your mother as a child. A child touching the tree.
Fingertips upon lighted rivulets of bark. In the stereoscopic silence of bark on the tree beneath the spherical sun.
In channels of coal & sediment, in ice ages & the orbit of Venus
rolling upon violet flower-ways. In violet flower pathways. In supernatural pathways entering the looming institutions.
Now upon the looming. Now upon the looting. In losing everything discovering the transmission.
Transmitted in the cricket-voice of an oracle ear to the ground, attuning to the root-like, tendril-like, dandelion seed puffball-like.
& Patterns in the wind seep into an illumination.
& Guide the movement of pen, pencil, brush & stylus.
In suffering, in forced migrations of herds & flocks, tribes & orphans. In thirst. In the lonely.
In leading to the place. In penetrating to the centre. In the curvilinear. In lines upon the skin of the face.
No Zero/Freakshow. No, you cannot dissolve it or wash it away.
A snake sheds his skin of transparent parchment coiled in the crown of your hair
as you parade on the red carpet.
In infamy you suffer amnesia.
Beggars beg outside the gates of the looming institutions.
The perambulatory William Blake strides inquisitively upon a bridge
rising above stones carved in runes.
Working in ink and the materials of the worker.
William Blake interceding, face to face, engaging ruined beauty.
In the ruins of beauty & osmosis at the edges.
Seeding Songs of Innocence at the periphery to the vista.
& One can say to anyone did you not graduate from a pine tree?
& One can say to anyone did you not graduate from a field of clover?
Wings in the centre of language blaze ivory-fire
(Mr. Blake my mother said you would like this bread).
Songbirds line the bridge, one by one, on the quartz railing.
Good morning Mr. Blake they sing as if a lullaby.
In the Temple of Binoculars one wild bull pulls a chain collapsing pillars,
perpendicular & askew.
Tin foil rhinoceros & lions cast shadows.
Cyclops, catching his breath beneath slabs of marble,
warning of the mind & psyche collectively disintegrating.
Who & Where & When?
Little Bo-Peep loses her line of sight to the common grazing grounds.
The perambulatory William Blake delivers an apple & a printed sheaf.
He will decode the cumbersome legalese.
And as for what to undertake they will agree in solidarity.
Now Zero/Freakshow stirs a plastic spoon.
Opens the bathroom cabinet testing powders, creams & fragrant sprays.
Open the amphora of sorrow rained by the wind.
Surely he resembles Beethoven on a motorcycle.
The oracle flat on the ground behind a half-demolished crumbling wall.
If she returns the instant coffee will be gone.
Her whirling gyres, a fountain foaming, the invisible foaming out a fountain,
will be gone.
& Elsewhere (forever there is an elsewhere)
Neolithic hunting parties, dressed for the hunt,
materialize in the aether, alive in stone, in bone broth & sound,
asleep for eons in the depths of a pulsating chamber.
Drink, of the Original Thought, lashing vines & interlacing veins.
Drink, of the First Principle, inscribing lengths of wand-like wood.
Decide the shapeshifting wand! Now become a whirlwind.
No taller than a heron, speaking in shamanic fits
of rage & grief.
Ash gone white in shamanic fits of shame & disbelief.
& Chanting the ravens’ lucid dreamtime reply into the cauldron.
& Swirling blood-red poetry casting spells of haunting sound.
A carnyx awakens the moon.
What was that? I don’t know. Did you see the hummingbird?
In your psychic prison, Prisoner Zero/Freakshow,
the poison of your fingertips touches the graveyard of your face.
Your silhouette staining The Garden Walls of Babylon shall fade.
Your silhouette staining The Garden Wall of Golgotha shall fade
as you manipulate a pinhole camera. As you sip sucrose-fructose.
As you recalibrate the diabolical.
Vanish! Banished!
Enough is enough!
A Tower of Babel bone-blade fragment regurgitates up your throat.
A crack in the ant farm discombobulates the matrix, now tilted, now losing speed.
Cyclops sits at the tip of a chanting pinecone, his archaic inner eye scratched in the crisis.
A local physician, loyal to the mountain’s daughter, signs a prescription in cursive font elegant as a Hellenistic vase.
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