Simple Theories

  Tiglath-Pileser III, home from stadia of distraction and machination. The last finality writ in field and effort as people. New world seems extreme step. He marched toward the Mediterranean, they marched. Beginning: weak king Ashurnirari V, in the form of change. Strong claimant, Pul, The Bible captures the name, later traded for what history wants to remember. History settles into folds that we call time. As befits a king of stature, Ashurbanipal sits in the imaginative primacy of big chair. Queen has a nice chair as befits aristo. We release ourselves to awe in the breeze of well swept fans for the royal comfort. Etch the terms of magnificence in stone. A pious gulp of wine, residuals of slaves, life is goad. We believe Hammurabi wrote code, an interesting aspect to the life. Hillsides green with vines, stretch as far as the eye can imagine. Prayers rise from the mind of mouth. Braced by the enormous breadth of endeavour that can only conjoin with other patterns, initiatives, b...

  It has the dead beat of future days… Whereas Sargon, in this particular dreamscape, wished only to perhaps become a brewer of fermented grains—or cupbearer anyway, let’s say—Ashurbanipal always knew from childhood that he would engage as leader of an early civilization and subject to historians. Images carved on stele attest that Ashurbanipal sat in big chairs. By new chances and all clerical errors the tune of history changed as present tense became more convertible, usable, irresistible, and just plain catastrophic. Sargon grew to world-bending Greatness two millennium before Ashurbanipal, ending his dreams of boozy influence. or whatever fulfillment he might’ve in the final concoction, but dissatisfaction could never die. Civilization fetched up these players and human gravity applied the force. You the consequence. Only grandness and title survives in the living overflow of nuclear spirit. Son of a priestess of Ishtar, who placed him baby in a boat for reason, twisted Sargon ...

  Wet summer centrism, humanly purveyed, attaches to dying moments like brother talk brother on the endless morrows.   Believe in gestures of sorrow, a day wasn’t built in Rome. Reasonable people, floating thru, created the very walls that feel like bursting vital arteries.  The last will never be finished. Sun rises above the ramparts as an eager saying among fully detonated land forces.  An overlord of Mesopotamia merely, just standing between two rivers, with vast, stung imagination and how easily the world fits into the idea of place.  All basis exudes words derived from bones and choosing. All dates include the time after and the thinking before.  A cold wind secures the data of a cold wind. Choice fades into the first breeze of war, just a word or two, and a matchless equation.  Later, a monument on the town green will fade further into the acrobatically secured past of which we shall sing.

  If horns make music, not just war crimes, the blare across countryside appoints soothing nervous world.   Terremoto  of acidie augments the daily ritual, the royal stuff, fat harvest, fat angels: wings of birds fly off.  No one remains to incise cuneiform into slabs of wet clay. Towers have been chosen.  coin de ciel  abjection. Time and present tense such crocks, untrustworthy, hardly fair.  A few words then, in the decent grey light, while we remain together, to gather.