Do Not Listen, Part I

To all known shades, O virtuous Hinds, With peerless hunger of a sordid kind: Cover your ears. Cover Your spirit. Do not Put the watered pot beneath the sun, that neutral sun That struggles not to save you, but shall come undone, Unraveling some haunting memory You cannot help but don Like your favorite sweater unsewn, not forgotten, For it was you who was rotten. Do Not Enter. Like me, you chuckled. Yes, who are they To force us away? Who are they, indeed. I shall make a deal with you, friend: In my hand is the answer why you mustn't descend. Valhalla…Valhalla…I stood without weapon. And then…no. Our hands have not yet converged for shake, So why do you recoil? Is it truly, truly, and marv'lously apparent that the Spleen lives in my soil? The sea gallons Through a funnel. The funnel in the Tunnel of Love in the Tunnel of William in the Tunnel of dark matter; A face stuck in the mirror shall shatter. Emerald City. Do Not Enter. Do You Understand? For as the hands of an evil flower give a soundless scream I reach for the shaving cream— Nick my neck. I wish to own that neck. Stand right here without a trace, come through my eyes, and now, Dear Wise: Do You Dance? Where art thou lance? And my stance: I fear that I cannot perform advanced A flying trapeze peripheral hand-stand. Curiously down on a fresh wick, Curiouser and Curiouser Is the world's smile—but who shall be there To see only the smile And not the body Smiling? The Ice after the Fire Syncopating? I shall wonder and ache, pale and queasy... I shall hear Reap wed to Infinity oblique for us The sabers slake to sell my musk The sun glides into the room My room Lacking light, Backsliding sunlight from a desire-glot, Though Desire has served me well. About as well As a tumble down three old flights of stairs, whence I've chuckled into a box of airs, asking, O, Where?