is where I need to be,
with a revolving head,
with extended takes
that moves like a time-monument
receding out of the frame
of circumfluous ambiguity.
Today! Sweetness of wind,
begin, will you? Overcast,
rave-fast, fade-to-slack
in the backyard; the sky
resembles calculated
smoke-emissions. What am I
but snared with the power
of a Knight (royal posh).
Call upon The Terrorists
with Eisenstein-eye.
This isn't Photoshop physics.
I adapt to the Real
stitched into a great spearing.
Cacti of throat, like an
adjoining book-case.
I will be a duelling dragon's head
skimming through milky white websites
full of Russian text,
palette of disguised philosophies.
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