meridians of what is not (Ah Pook, the Destroyer)

again the sprawl and slur of unreason

as the whole day leaves in a hurry
mopping itself back up on the way across
"who really gave that order?"
reanimated/reactivated/reassembled as a kind of death

that reaches out an unseen hand to trip those dancers
who did not look and would not look
again the bodies broken on the wet road

raising feeble heads and wondering what
the/de/light/me/not the quint/essence
the pipes the pipes are calling
from way down the fountain around which

we inreeled the Sci-Fi strain threatening to life
unaccepted/unfillable/inviolate
only half alive skims over surfaces

never once looking down
not even at maps or other forms of the below-
oh no he cries oh such schlock and schtick
as the whole day the week or several arrives

and leaves in one such flash and flush
quite of the order of hands.quiet.shying
hush now hush—the beginning

of the world is nigh

.