Named for a mountain on Mars, Lowell sits standard beside the river assumed of countryside. Embolisms spread everywhere, the beseechcraft of unlocked rule, neat tent cities of unaffordable scum. Smoke flex parenthesis, Lester Young afloat. Open on Kerouac town. Inculcation admitted as habit, in the midst of deity throng. Churches piled high, almost toward heaven. Someone said Modern Day, and behold, water runs downhill. The hill possesses, with a current so mighty: Babylonian, like sway. A sentence can only be completed, the thought cannot. Gods of pure exult gave unto all soap dispensers, lubricious belts, pious bits of rock, hard landing, natural upheaval, synonyms for guilt, lake-sized entrapment, a better bop. And then waking up on the seventh day thinking, again, thinking. Jack says the donut rising from the fryer’s oil speaks of ancestral towers and go back. The President holds forth a tone, not quite mapped. Later forms of isolation will prove just as stable. America in the meantime allows for phrases like “goodbye pork pie hat”.
The work becomes chiding of sunlight. The work is elegy and shaded. The principle ciphers as a god, in the way transience is purpose. Transience works this brief, ending fields, making trees concern. The hell of halting midway identifies the work of burning thru. Forever makes a sign. Sign makes worthy. Indeed the tramp of feet forward concludes any sentences but suggests more. Long sentences, stupid words. The caroling heard by Dante, brilliantine remorse for a better tide. The long road up from down, and turned around. The work then becomes the work now, as stained glass similitude. Anxious in the class structure of catastrophe, the baying song over all. Nothing to do but be done. Ruskin gave you papers to remind you. Slow battering concedes the earth in time. Time being functional and oblique. The worker inside sees the nation by exhalation. Transitive connection sports of culture. The class that ends becomes the class that begins, both left and right.
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