1492

1492 was a bad year for the postmoderns
Taino didn't see the Columbine Weaver coming down
with a quadrant and cross-staff
from Cadiz and Rome
writing them in as subplot
never had a Cortezcoatl to warn
of impending context-fiction
(mere poetry of space they are now)
in their nakedness/decorousness/praiseworthiness/

(though it is *true*)
made to like us act wake up all-dead quiet
silent/soundless/muted/dumbfound/voiceless
tacit in archipelagic echo
of coral emptiness resound
never saw the jackboot bestseller
descending forever and ever

(rolling surf on shale—
never felt the polynesiac swells lift
in their southsea orchidectomies
of wolf semen, of navigant creole)

on a human face of narrative real estate
never saw themselves textual unfacted
loaned out to the future web address-
squatters of thread-plane-hijack
but they are the last great sane problem

in 'american' history
before all connection was severed
by right whales
with Mothership Essex
and the arqebusiers just forgot
to look again
where they left it crying out so tricoteuse

nothing sane will come out of 'america' not ever
until Osama bin Laden is made honorary
Coyotanansie Doctorate of Hashishim-Alamout-Reflexives
at UC Irvine

until TRUE is REALLY
N=O=T=H=I=N=G
knitting hats by guillotine light

chewing dead potatabac
Jacques de Holy Molay thus thou art
finally fully resolutely
unavengèd and all
baphometed ever out
along shores of silent ash