The Outsider (Part V)

This is a continuation. To start from the beginning, click here.

III. THE STARS WOULD BE SHINING

The burnt sand is crushed: the brittle hood of brush
Pestled and ground into the watery silt. The earth
Surrenders to the foot, splashing. Come, sweet Thalia.
Gentle Tecumseh, wait quietly, until at last I return.
The starlight here is far too brazen, not so the flowers,
The carpet of grass, the modest vesper, your graceful step
Into the veiled hush of our twilight. Come, sweet Thalia.
I overlook the city, the sac à fiens of liberation;
On this foul box I offer to take nothing…
Gentle Tecumseh, wait quietly til I get back,
Gentle Tecumseh, wait quietly til I put down my pack.
Free from the twitching pincers of the beast
I murder conviction, and shield my eyes from the East.

The bus rolled slowly through our town
Trawling for trollops with benjamins for bait
Only to disappear through the hedge of mist
Before the black sunshine corrupted the pewter sky
Ransoming our bones now twice sold
And settling all old business in the Forum of the Doomed.
The perished ones made animate they march again
On the grass where blood was never spill’d but flood’d,
On the scaffold held court the Dead One, exterminating son.
How could I look on his works and not fear
The mantle of the avenging wraith he assumed, yet I only
See the depraved, exulted pimp of the Sex Trolley.
O (prime numbers) there’s one two three five seven
Eleven thirteen seventeen
Whores on the yellow bus
Èprise du plaisir jusqu’à l’atrocité.

Harder harder harder
Click click click click click click
Who is that?
Oh snap

Wayfarin Rats
Under the scorched earth of spinning ghosts
Mr. Principal, the old gas ball
Aflame, a seven-page letter in his pocket
Cf. ass-clown: briefcase in hand,
He gave me stereo instructions for the soul,
I got him in at the Head Cracker Café.
I am the drum that brings bad spirits.

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