"God takes joy in the odd numbers."
~13
More than twice
I passed the Bacbuc
back to Trinka
back towards the little
dolphin inside the young bottle
she had become
and as a becoming animal
mostly just waited (beautifully)
and
evening is snide and silly etc.
(moonish, mannish, whatever)
unless a passing wave /~
night
in crystal and heterodyne
releases some Hokusai butterflies
from its cacoethic's
crib death monocle scribbling
[fucking magic]
some forgotten Russian composer's
name who
concludes
pet is to tattoo
as monad is to Zipangri
and then chuckled across
Sebastian Munster's
Novae Insulae
only to be absorbed
in the endless sweaty cabbage,
obscurity would always save the oracle
but the poet
must have friends
as the puppet
has its gods
groatgreen and unshod
a puppet is uncomfortable
with nakedness
just as the rebec can
never face
a perfect number
