Monday, July 18, 2016

ashgabat 13, 14

My war bonnet, dinosaur-feathered, daubed with poison
yields Yorkie squee on the qeh oube banister.
Der Zor, within a tiny metal canister,
can parkour all your klones, & enclaves foison.
Crogor card, great fezz, surcease of raku cark in the kiln

arwedha jumble, not kintsugi perjury
is still out. Truth is but elective surgery
& one must often swear in the jargon of Milne
each facet of the Blindness, each scrag-figment
since sanguinary iron is the sole decorous pigment.

Chagatai AKA "Old Uzbek" or "ancient Uyghur".

Nobody home & riding on a gurgle
the failure rate of all our new equipment
sun’s rays or dark upon each fresh arms shipment
& all the love your lucky lips can burgle
repair deferred inside a rarely-done-well medium

a claustrophobic spelunks the cave of Plato
to live or die amounts to one potato
elsewhere, while here our foe is download tedium
a suitcase full of boxes & dirt, wet tissue;
an enthusiast with a simple message, single issue.

"Because the Mongols were too ignorant to make swords, they carried wooden sticks. In Samarkand, scholars were drinking tea from special porcelain teacups that rang different musical tones when you tapped them with a spoon. Genghis Khan destroyed every one of these teacups, the secret of whose craftsmanship has been lost forever." --Batuman, op cit



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