CHILDE ROLANDA, or THE WHATEVER EPIC
Here endeth, then,
Progress this way
--Robert Browning,
Childe Harold to the Dark Tower Came
1.
Names in my ears
all the lost
the Spring My Heart Made
sudden river trickle
and charged rain
epistolary pistils
along a Path Darkening
2.
Rain ampules
liquid word phials
came to arrest my thoughts
Questions that CrackDevastate
the extreme corner of the page
no scale order or end
to this series
3.
Wheel which gets the wormiest
sticker panels Nightingale
Panels Small Still Voice
and total inversion splash ruin
in the strictest sense
of the personal desire party
but saddle ached
saddle ached and ached
4.
This was the place Crayola
the Loretto Laredo
where even those
Who Could Find in Their List
trembling outcomes
old man of which
engine trouble
and the interface touch
a little bit dated
5.
Although the View the Same
migrating into the deepest pocket
of Next Phase Phrases
a switch of the Thin New
once upper
now "in it" low
and Subject to the Same Error
6.
In Middle Ground
Tall Scalped Mountain
and lame figure in the cleft
sunset where Noise was Named Ears
re-spoken in the muffle
of horror ardor and blond worry
The Arm That Will Reach Out
when dry blades prick the mud
7.
For flowers fill cruel rents
with Environmental Trial Run
natural regrowth material
mostly alien mostly waste
but coherent with alarms
that Bruise the Creature Program
alert the disappearing progress memo
laid down millennia and millennia
8.
And She Whose She-Horn is also
a camera also a navigational device
photographs as a Breathing Rock
what was picked up as a speaking sea
of avant jewelry: rock paper scissor
and Uber Fern Leaking Through
so many pre-set talking points
disambiguated among the creeping forces
of multiple password panic
9.
in which dauntless Childe Rolanda
whistle blower forest format
maven trolling the underside
of the Universal Mistake Blanket
presses to lipless lips
the endzone slugfest
run out of fuel last lines
(locust marrow sepal
sorrow) of the Whatever Epic
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