John Palcewski (forioscribe) wrote,
John Palcewski

Don Quixote

from Geography of Logaire.


Thomas Merton

Comes a big slow fish with tailfins erect in light smog
One more leaves earth
Go trains of insect machines
Thirtynine generals signal eight
Contact barrier four

A United leaves earth
Square silver bug moves into shade under wing building
Standby train three black bugs indifferent
A week after he got sick
A long beetle called Shell
On a firm United basis
Long heavy assed American dolphin touches earth
Please come to the counter
Where we have your camera
Eastern airlines has your camera
And two others drink coffee
Out of yellow paper cups

Big Salvador not cooled off yet
From sky silver but
Hotel Fenway takes off at once
To become Charles’ Wain

“The wise man who has acquired mental vacuity is not concerned with contempla-
tion or its absence.”

Forty stories of window seats available
Watcher stands on turntable ensemble
Counts passing generals
In curtains and spaces leaving earth
Two bugs like trucks
With airplane noses
Ride our fables
Armored with earmuffs
Racing alone across asphalt sound
Armored against desert
All members
Not yet numbered
All clear neons come to the confession
The racing numbers
Are not remembered

Big Panam leaves earth
Gets Tax Man started into death
I’ll lget the teachers expanded
Turn your hat
Over your breath
Small dapper North Central is green for woods
And arrives safe.

Flight information requires Queen
All green Braniff leaves earth for Pole
And big United Dopppelganger slides very close
Seeking the armed savers

It points at us all and it is named:

It swings body no. 7204 U
In case of mountain death
Discovers Teacher Jackson
Wins Colorado team maybe
In the snow
In the rare acts

Check tables for Vance Cooper
Advance with boarding arts
The glide are has now won and
Boy you got a lotta SPREAD

Hello say the mignonnes
You can go to bed
You can go to the gorgeous
Community period and

“Though appearing to act he does not engage in action”

Muffled the vice of Lou’ville smoke
The front
Hello money got to go pump earnings

Into bug MM2 for Derby Dad
Telling arrival is a copperhead
Big Mafia sits with mainlining blonde
Regular Bounder Marlo

Come meet world muffin at ticket counter
Ticket country
Mr Kelsey
Mr Kelsey
You are now wanted
In ticket country

“It is not distant and it is not the object of attainment”

Come we will pump our money into dogs
And lift our gorgeous raids sky high
Over the sunlit periods
Bending angels and Tax Man
And giddy grey girls
Over the suburban highschools
Our glide has won
Our teacher has dropped out
Our giant vocal captains are taking off
Whooping and plunging like world police
On distant outside funnels

Stainless diagrams sink
Into muddy air
We leave earth and act
Going to San
Patterns slide down we go for clear
Sanitation heaven
Combing the murky
Surface of profit

San Franciscan wing over abstract
Whorls wide sandpits watershapes
Forms prints and grids

Invent a name of a town
Any town
“Sewage Town”.
And day six is a climbing sun
A day of memory.

“Having finally recognized that the Self is Brahman and that existence and non-
existence are imagined, what should such a one, free of desires, know, say or do?”

Should he look out of the windows
Seeking Self-Town?

Should the dance of Shivashapes
All over flooded prairies
Make hosts of Christ-Wheat
Self bread which could also be
Squares of Buddha-Rice
Or Square Maize about those pyramids
Same green
Same brown, same square
Same is the Ziggurat of everywhere
I am one same burned Indian
Purple of my rivers is the same shed blood
All is flooded
All is my Vietnam charred
Charred by my co-stars
The flying generals.

“He who sees reality in the universe may try to negate it.”

To deny linoleum badges
Deride the false tile field floor
Of the great Illinois bathroom
Lettered all over
With busy-signals

To view the many branches of the Shiva-cakes
The veined paddies or pastries
The burned trays of a Ming prairie
Or the porcelain edges
Of giant Mother Mississippi

“His actions in this world are appearances only”

Appearances of cities
And disappearances
Dubuque dragging its handkerchiefs
Into a lake of cirrus
(Gap with one long leg of extended highway)

“Not seeing, he appears to see.”

A lake of cottons
Iowa needs names

High above this milk
There is a race-leader or power passenger
At odds with the white rest
The cloud captains
An individual safe
A strong-box enclosed self
A much more jealous reason
One among many
Who will have his way
A logical black provider
For only one family
Flying with a fortune in stamps
He stands in line with the others
Outside the highest toilet in the world
To establish a record in rights
High above the torment
Of milling wind and storms
We are All High Police Thors
Holding our own weapons
Into the milk mist each alone
As our battering ram
Fires us all into Franciscan west
As strangers in the same line
United in indifferent skies
Where nobody needs any anger.

Not seeing he is thought to be over Sioux Falls
Getting hungry
Not seeing he is thought to see
Saying “It is there”
The family combination shelter and fun
Room where everything is possible.

Sinbad returning from the vines of wire
Makes his savage muffled voice
With playboy accents
To entertain the momentary mignonnes
As if he meant it all in fun

Sinbad returning from Arab voices
With his own best news for everybody boy
Says: “Wellfed cities
Are all below
Standing in line
Beneath enormous gas
Waiting to catch our baseball.”

Sinbad the voyager makes his muscles of utterance
Soundless lips entertain the merveilles

Merveilles les vignes
De fil de fer
Les vagues barbares de l’est
Get ready for your invasion baby

Dr Farges awaits you with his syringe
And Tom Swift rides by below
On his invisible mammoth mountains of art
The granite sides of Rushmore
Now showing Four Walt Whitmans
Who once entrusted the nation to rafts
Four secret presidents
With stone ideas
Who mumble under gas
(Provided free by our government)
“This mildly toxic invention can harm none
But the enemy.”
Merveilles! Secrets! Deadly plans for distant places!
And all the high males are flying far west
In one unanimous supermarket of beliefs
Seeking one only motto
For “l’imaginati on heureuse”:

s/ Thomas Merton
Trappist 40073

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