The last page
A statue’s story draped
Across the soldier’s fat nape.
Lousy with me. Can I call
Row boats on ship seas?
We started the damnation of . . .
Nay! Shun! And Scorn!
The pilgrim’s progress (the
In a copper dress) Hail
Thy version and thy sack
Of rice. The penance,
The pound, the hunchback’s
Spy. Nail the legs
To the floor and shoot the whore.
The sheep keep bleating
The wound seething
Festering moles steering
Fallen crews suffer eyeing
In darkness.
Loose sulfur
Drying in sparkles.
Exposing thy
and thou explosion.
Master, bait the sun
In this marred age
With the lunar blind bull.
Straight into outer rage space.
Mark this the last page.
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