Slapstick or egregious, there's something
in this blurred patch that doesn't quite
jibe with the totem animals, like say
there was something alive in the breakbeats
& that ghost has no particular
destination: a by-the-wind-sailor destined
to kick ass or take names & Trismegistos
is kissing up, furiously, that breeze. Decreed.
The black sun must be eclipsed by
something drastic, like say the fake
eyes of the devilray or the abandoned Tilt-A-Whirl.
Ultimately the black sun is a manowar;
monofilament halo of thin
stinging rhizomes, angelhair. Some say
paralytic, some say ecstatic--the cartographer
makes the same mark anyway. All aboard
that creaking bireme: the dark magician,
the kindly nymph & the shiny adorable
robot who can never die. The flag above:
a sail & the hold's full of gibbering
skeletons. You sure took your time
getting here, well where she wrote "dolphin"
in this light looks like "jellyfish" &
those cats don't haul ass for no-
body, no Our Lady of the Wounded
Eyes or ambivalent philosophers.
Look out kid, there's a mouth on the other
side of that thing & our hero's buried in the sand:
what once was all Wagner is now
all Duran Duran.