Between some freshly-laid piss
   and vomit from some 'china girl'
   or 'odradek,' he collapses or more 

   accurately 'subsides' after tracing 
   a penta-grammed ridgeline 
   of ashes and stardust; right off 
   the porcelain lid, shattering Corporal 

   Clegg's floccinaucinihilipilification-
   nous wooden leg.  Off the bath-
   room floor, 
   Boswell hums the abysmal 

   name of the rose, and begins 
   to confess to 'swallowing 
   a bomb' 
   inside *The Bahnhof Zoo*, 

   the yellow to orange submarine 
   in which Boswell mindfully lifts 
   out from the fog of some unspeakable 

   at the bottom of the sea, ribbiting like a bullfrog 
   next to Aleister Crowley, atop a blue whale's stiff corse.  

Now read this

Shadow of the Dice

Exposed to the seizing against the vice of seconds that grips with the indifference of a wrench I find the emergence of death- in-this-life less disturbing, an achievement of some short distance. Here, in the inextricable part of routine... Continue →