"Abraxas Laetrile

Pang unfelt as a pantomime
shrike-attack, cry now this
shadow so clear into prism,
and ring not as sialogogue
lest fathoms reduce to few.

I want cucullated retreat,
anarchy with honor, lynxly
somnambulism, fluttering
tangents to cure my angsts,
and, not least, I crave grace.

Gnomon of my days oh unveil
your plaintive sigil, with
utmost anonymity if I must
dwell among floes, but burn.

She almost knows me, husk of
revelation that I am; shine
through further and finer.
Ravaged is our peace by any
beautiful thing. It doesn't
hold more than one. How do we
dissever reversibly, Holy
Void, oh storm-beached kelp?"

--Vicki Cargocult, Th* Ibis of 3utaxy (1986)



Highway 80.