Overread at Table 1: another 360

205.

In my youth, my
far youth, I wrote in derisions of revisions
quite the contrary to Thomas Stearns,
whose illusions and contusions I fair discerned,

an ample bit of rhetoric soft-hidden in the
idolatry of ancient languages.Then

I found my beat in the heart of the beats and the
rhythm of the sand dunes outside of Sao Paolo and the jazz it was
playing like the waves dancing in from that ocean breeze, yeah and the
beat it was, the beat it was pounding pounding pounding and the boom boom
and the bop bop and we were beat man it was pounding, and that
was a

generation left behind/like
milksuit and wine.by the
postmodernistic blacklight
that tempered our backstreet bottles and
Jesus on the tellywine/aunt suzie on
some semaphore code/drunk
like lady days in winter/not

much

more

decoded/here,

and finally reverted down the long
hallway of dreams and schemes
- like bees they dared to deceive me
with their beautiful buzz and eventual
sting,
just like mE to be Em -
Emily in the Blogosphere, but

finally there was a muse and what
a muse it was she was
dan
c
ing
down

pennystreet, all sun-dried and mussied-up.
there was )no code like
our/code, they say,

as i rode a streetcar with cummings
at the end of the
day.




from 360.