trotsky-was-my-wife

i. disintegration and melanoma pollute the population as myths and gods dance in the purifying fire built with broken bits of comprehension and last year's intriguing academic ramblings when you know you do not know, etc…those eastern astronauts must exist in elegance, beyond the muddy speculation that the saxons were destined to deliver to the modern mind in a few swift strokes, ideas are destroyed—don't tell me power won't prevail—don't be so naïve my dear neophyte, my tabula rasa, my ideal form, left behind in the cave by hungry strangers "they will return for me," you said, but the mongrels never read your books, they care n

How did I find my way (through endless distraction foggy thought-filled ravines sunlight scattering dusty window transparent portals)            ? I cried when I realized the world wasn't --magnificent library intellectual labyrinths --holy Greek idyllic rumpled pastures --meant for happy conversation searching epiphanies --made for me Cry me a mountain, a wampum valley, a craggy shellfish dune farm, a slot machine… Do you remember your prophetic Freemason baseball player Jesus Christ fantasies as you sat on the splinter-laden picnic table enthralled by mystery? Now you say: Woe!  Woe!  Woe!  Woe! (Dreams dissipated into