“el sol brillante
se apaga

de repente

y de repente
me arrepiento”

what the Bard spat forth, sublimates

The Michoacan “profe”

As hereto unknown levels of
Paranoic

Mexi-global

Minstrelsy

Take firm hold of The Old Literary Quartet

(in the bar)

they interrupt one another

in jaunty- rhythms-

(rough translation)

“ill what would be me will-pile – file – sing”

“stuff up what would be blind-fuck there-spare,
me, hope’s hope”

“I the devil what would more design
trans-death, than trans-life”

“call in the faith box—that would be premise
dream-lense, be-shattered,

shysyhtemic

shubsherviemsh”

And so the Declamatory session ends.

Bottles are cleared from the table.

And a last fleur
De malaise globale

Is plucked

“Rue the monograph!

But not the ineluctable practice

Young man”

Symbolism’s
Satellite

Debris