16
all the gold and white and blue
a ravanastron hung, on the wall, from a nail, like a plover
the strings are in flitters
simple games that time plays with space
this hairbreadth departure
the stairs that never seemed the same stairs
a pillow of old words, for a head
a picture hanging on the wall, from a nail
the circle sailed steadfast in its white skies, with its patient breach forever below
like the centuries that fall, from the pod of eternity
a fragment of rigmarole reread
this long chain of consistence
the theatre of a similar conglutination
floccillating his hard hat
in our windowlessness, in our bloodheat, in our hush
through this jocose this sniggering muck
except in moments of delirium, or during the service of the mass
the sun, so long obnubilated
The Mathematical Intuition of the Visicelts
two by two the eyes put forth their curious beams
an occasional raucous sally
the issuing smokes mingled to vanish
the fricatives in particular were pleasing
the grey air aswirl with vain entelechies
in his skull the voices whispering their canon were like a patter of mice
Watt was an old rose now, and indifferent to the gardener
℗ 2023 Edgetone Records, William Noertker © 2023 Edgetone Records, Noertker's Moxie
