To be great is to be misunderstood.
I bet it’s true, Emerson. Too bad. God’s
too big to estimate, dress unrobed.
Greatness is to dote, bob, dim out, re-
store, ebb, a too-odd gesture in mist,
to grab onto tidbits (seed, ore, muse)
and gibber. O tides, O meteors, totus
orbis, mein Gott, déesse, art, O doubt,
Tao, dross, bromides, bite tongue! Et
tu, Emerson? So it’s great to be odd, bi-
odegrade into ribs, testtubes. Moo
to be tiger misunderstood, O beast,
O song mistreated. So be it. But doer,
deed are one big orbit. Toss utmost
reason out, it’d better be good. (Miss
most, but so?) A desire to be God inert,
to be soirée absurd, totems doting
in sedate bedroom grottoes. But is
it great to be so misunderstood, be
moot? outside sense? to brag dirt? be
modest bores? to diatribe tongues
tied? Dog mottoes, rabbit neuroses:
sit, be obedient, taste good. Rumors
run aside doom, boost getters, bite
gottens. Bid me adieu. Boots resort
to ties, bodies but to Emerson. Drag
mud in. Obsess. Edit rot. To be great
is not “odd I,” “obstruse me.” To be great
is to resent to be misread, but good.
In God we trust.
Wind gust tore
dirt, new gusto,
wet grit, sound.
Dust grew into
stud, grew into
student. “I grow
rust,” God went. “I
wrote its dung
tune, word gist.”
During set two,
unit two, dregs
went turgid. So
we grind stout.
Twist or nudge,
endow, tug, stir,
now sit, trudge
its rug. We don’t
trust gin, do we?
Trust wine. God,
true swig, don’t
grind us to wet
guts, not weird
strong wit due
west. I do grunt
its grunt. We do.
We dug. Snort it,
we’d string out.
Strung, we do it.
We trust doing.
Our cares are non-mighty I utter theirs are real.
Our anthems are coy ring trite theirs are a rule.
Our hymns are ocean-grit errata theirs lie true.
Our sutra gem-rare their chants are elite irony.
Our charm attires are tiny are gone theirs lure.
Our terms irritate theirs are Herculean agony.
Our ires are ethnic organs theirs rarely mutate.
Our nothings are eerie tar theirs ultra creamy.
Our tears are thorny urine theirs relate magic.
Our games are corny hint theirs are true retail.
Our canyon a rash rut theirs e’er err legitimate.
Our grins are arch yet no theirs laureate merit.
Our true achings are Troy-men their era is later.
Our chains are grey theirs turn Rome retaliate.
Our canons are grim they lie theirs are true art.
Our myths are ignorance, theirs are literature.
I like drama eaten in.
Lake air. I need a mint.
I like a dinner, a tame
Ariel diet, a.k.a., in men.
I like a dent, a marine
mania. I drink eel tea,
mandarin tea, i.e., like
karate, a lime, dine-in
linen. I take Madeira.
Make it adrenaline. I,
real Medea, I, anti-kin:
alienate me. I drink a
martini. A keen Delia
(I mean Ideal). Ink tear
in a tinker. A made-lie
in a limeade. In a trek,
a dreamlike tie-in, an
entree. I’m Kali. Naiad
(I mean Diana) reel kit.
Like in Ariadne. Mate
like a tread-in (I mean
meat) inner Aïda, like
a like. (I mean trade-in.)
I like a maiden rent, a
Lear kinda matinee. (I
mean real kinda.) I tie
inner kite, I, dame a la
Iliad. Tie an arm, knee.
Tie ankle. I marinade
And I eat men like air.
DANGER: torture-wheel from God
Geometer. DANGER: world of hurt,
of grudge, rant, theorem. Lord, we
err, the twofold garden/morgue.
Deer regret word-of-mouth, lang-
uage of Grendel, rod, term, worth,
the deferred growl or moan, gut-
felt word. DANGER: rogue mother
tongue, the germ-drawl of order,
lewd tome. DANGER: error fought
(wrought) from degenerate lord.
We get our danger from the lord.
Mistletoe. A sinus and nose nag.
Annual toast, send sense. I go (I’m
me) I toast angels and eons in us:
Mais ou sont les neiges d’antan?
Minnesota, I guess. A stolen and
osseous Atlantis. Endgame Inn,
instantaneous end-image, loss
antenna. Sing adieu, Moses. Lost-
soul Dante. Miss Antigone. Sean
and Susie someone. Titan’s lang-
uage. Edison. Samson. Sin-latent
Genesis to sin-stale Adam. Noun-
noise, damnation (see LAST SUNG)
LATIN MASS, sunset gone, Oneida
gone. Santa: issue a Milton, send
Aeneas on, omit guns, send a list-
less Auden again soon. Smitten
Stein. Amos and Longinus. Tease
out a sage, Mann’s sin. Send Eliot
(Ness, I nag). Sad Montale, Suetoni-
us, stem to Galen, Adonis, insane
Mendel’s ingenious oats. Santa:
send Sienna’s saint, a mute logo
to emulate, snag Donne as is, sin-
gle out a Sistine Madonna, sens-
ual Sistine son. Send a montage:
Montaigne, Antaeus’ solidness,
Anansi legends, stem to Ausoni-
us so eminent, lend Asia at song
in T’ang sunset, do see Mona Lisa,
Statius, no-sin Magdalene, nose
Douglass to a saint seen in men,
mingle Issa, Onan, snout-teased
Tantalus, Minos seeing sad eon
alongside eon. Santa: semi-stun
us, send Gaia most salient, neon
sign, Masada’s sentinel, one out-
side time, St. Anne, a saloon-sung
sonata, Eumenides slogan (isn’t
it a silent one?), sun gases, monad
magnitude session. Noel, Santa:
send genuine stamina, toss Lao
Tsu in, Nemesis, steal Onondaga
nation’s dismal tongue, sense a
sentiment, a Delia, Sassoon gun-
stung, Miss Aïda, not seen, alone,
netted Massai, sanguine Solon.
Santa: sling in Dumas, see to one
Degas, note Nin, toss in a Samuel
Adams, Einstein. Stone us, Logan
assassinated line (“Not one”), mug
us at Mingo no less. Santa: I need
Amadeus, Seton, St. Agnes in lion
den, Sousa: glisten a Minnesota
sleet. Santa: I go (I’m us), send Anon
anon, send a testimonial guess,
a suit-design salesman—not one,
nine, I assume—sane, old, tan togs.
Santa: loan sense, I mistongued:
les neiges d’antan is moot, a sun-
melted season, guano stain, sin
in sunglasses, an emotion date
to designate man’s soul insane,
an egotism-laden onus I assent
to, insulted, amen. Sing a season,
Santa: guise me, dissonant, lone,
guise me in stone so natal sand
don’t assuage me, insolent, asin-
ine dementia. Santa: gloss us on
d’antan (angel’s noose, semi-suit)
gloss us on dementia (insane at
a mass dialogue; tennis, no nets)
gloss us on Santa (eminent idea)
gloss us on Satan (main Eden tie).
“It is lonesome,” Santa sang—nude
and insistent, Moses analogue
sans Mount Sinai, a nestled ego—
“‘Tis a delusion, man’s tense agon,
antagonism’s sundial.” See note.
Santa: send someone, a linguist,
menial assistant, endogenous
stooge, send an amanuensis til
a muse nods, intense. Nostalgia
is a tan suit, a lessened gnomon,
man’s odious tangential sense.
Nostalgia is a—no, needn’t mess, u-
nison is an utmost agenda, else
salad sonnets, a genuine moist
intention, sensual massage. Do,
Santa, not send Emanuel (go Isis)
send a missile, Santa, no tongue.
Nostalgia is no Eden. Same nuts
(sound) same senile antagonist
(us). Nostalgia’s a dense mention,
snail message. Toast innuendo,
toast noun amnesia, slid genes.
Santa: use a slim notion, e.g., send
data to lessen insomnia, genus
ingenious, antedate man’s loss
at lingo, denouement. Assassin
saint, send us a neat neologism.
Swing low, o airline ad.
Wow, Iona isle, darling
soil. Wow, an ideal ring,
gloriana isle. Window /
aisle. Inward, I glow on,
aerial. Wow, Innis Gold.
Wow, Innis Idol aglare.
I saw wild onion, large
long rows, awe inlaid. I
own a wild region, sail,
wallow, reign, I, Adonis
alias Lord Ego. Win-win,
win-lose or again wild
Darwinian will. Goose
gander. I sow. I nail. Low,
swing low, o ideal rain.
Wade low, original sin.
IRA island, woolen wig.
Asinine goodwill war.
Wow, a land is religion.
Wow, idle slogan in air.
Wow, Ireland is a lingo.
Wingward, solo, alien, I...
I will arise and go now.
The Child is the Father of the Man.
Hot-hand, hit-fit, fetal schemer, he
hatcheted his mother. Half feint,
half hint-craft, O she teethed him.
Teased. Her fifth month ache: hilt
from inside. Hatchet heft. Health
is detachment. Hah! Flee! Thrift, Ho-
ratio! He fends the hatch, left him-
self. Anthem chief, he that’d hit or
meet his end, he hath filth or fact
on his fire, he that’d fetch Hamlet,
thrash deft men. Hail to the chief.
The fatal hitch? Other men fed his
childish hate often. Harem-theft,
life-shift, he hadn’t a mother. Etch
that on his arm. He’d felt the chief
ache. His men he fed rot, that filth
fathers hid: them that leech info
letch; them that fish info adhere.
He, the off mind, he that cries Halt!
Thief, thief! He hath clad mentors,
hath hitmen, fear-clothes he’d fit.
The Child is a Father then, of Them.