Not dead yet,
not under six feet of
earth-breath heart's heat,
a sheet wrapped around
my body, brain wormed,
brow furrowed,
face unpained.
Imagine Mr Gray,
sinking, seeing
beings grow accursdomed
to fargotten slights,
soon to stem themselves on the Sun.
Hearing only dystynct motors?,
but mostly,
full of waves.
Floating...
numb...
waiting...
walzing...
winnowing...
floondering...
in miasmal difficulties
only survive, only survive
the underground theatre
is here to the rescue!
Prouder horse in an even prouder prance
Nor should the carnival pass by
30 actors & a carpet rolled out
in the center of TownTown?
Unexcavated joy
Unrepentant compassion
Unremitting delirium of beauty
Edit underground theatre? Describe
underground theatre? Impossible.
It lives in a milkweed pod,
floating over the marsh
in a renga center
having only a textual essence:
to wit:
mask mask mask
spaaaaaaaaaace
finally drip d
rip drip touch
yr leg however
script says or
or dsn't say t
o touch yr leg
beauty of unde
rgrnd theatr i
s oh Void of o
versight that'
s lack of eyes
abov:love etce
teretereteratd
no more etceterated mythologies
but mouthographies.
The don has created his own conditions
he gasps in perverse integrity
he kneels in bayed preposery
where we have come so far under-
ground the roots
are our candelabras
chandeliers of delight
exudates often aromatic
anti-romantic and yet
athrob with vital linguessence
thrillingly bitter to the tongue
that bit me
a tomb waits on St Vitus's snake-hiss...
a deliquescent
(an adolescent delinquent?)
only she
enter the petaled chamber
arachne the underdog
silk ground into the dirt
still holy in its mission
the leading edge
WritingDubuffetsTitles | ISBN 82-92428-29-1