By: James Parker
Re-re-re-watching an episode of Seinfeld.
“I live in my rhyme. / I get killed all the time.”
I was 11; I was at an all-boys boarding school in Suffolk, England.
Entire worlds snapped into being.
“My blade is aphoristic./You will admire its wit.”
“My eyes ache from seeing./My balls ache from being.”
Oh in your slimy seal-womb hide me./My last earth-breath expands inside me.
“And what are you worth,/old man, if you can’t rouse the earth?”
Introduction to our 2012 edition of H. Rider Haggard’s sci-fi novel.
“White whorls of brain-stuff, thought in leaping arcs,/empty bottles rolling in sad parks.”
“Charms, curses, laments, shamanic hallucinations, creation stories, health remedies, farming tips, song-battles…”
“Birds you creak, don’t speak, you grow old/in this home-destroying cold.”
“Feel the emptiness, feel the yearning,/feel your grosser elements burning.”
“Behind me, the busy flames,/
the fun and games, the toppling frames.”
“Until I can get up into this trance,/all is randomness, all mischance.”