Am*rican Aurora.

Landing.


   II.

Dawn, swift, indigo
pouring across highways;
all of us just quit
smoking and big box shops
mushroom blindly up,
turning to a clown boss
as if numinous
as if knowing a way
in this indigo
pouring in this lungfish
drowning cairns abolish.

   III.

pouring indigo
a blind mushroom numinous
in lungfish highways
cairns big box shops out turning
pouring big clown flowing boss

Using classic rock in tv car ads--was this how hip young Xtians would look at using old pagan holidays and myths, in Roman days?

A 19c. woman from Norway writing in T*xas...

"Twilight in Plano, I."

In this far suburb world of big box shops that mushroom blindly along highways, it is not so crazy that its pallid, plump inhabitants should turn to a Dubya as if numinous, as if worthy to follow. No history or natural world can chip at its blank horizons; location and causality both, its cairns abolish.

" 'It’s E, see? Three of ‘em in that p’ticelr name Keeler. Well, it means ‘at ev’ry t’ird line from the end of the story back for, twenty or thirty say, is culled out by strikin’ off the other two. And the e’s in each of them lines.’ Rudy stopped, perceiving that there might not be but one or two. 'The e’s,' he amended quickly, 'plus the typewriter spaces in each of them lines counted, see? And the count in each spells out a few words--by alp’bet’cal places, see? Like 1 for A, 2 for B--an’ so on, see?'
'Well, I’ll be damned!' commented Caldwell, almost admiringly." --Harry Stephen Keeler and Hazel Goodwin, The Case of the Transposed Legs (1948)

"Injustice is the binding force that makes our false world cohere. We can no more think of a world without injustice than a world without gravity. (Money is only the visible sign of this relation.)" --Jack Nastyface, Tsunami (1969)

"The number one killer in the world is dysentery, but you don't see anyone going around wearing brown ribbons, do you?" --Katherine Russell Rich, The Red Devil (1999)

Into song variants?

'Komitas is to Armenians what Chopin is to Poles: their musical genius. ...He wandered around villages collecting songs. He established tens, others say hundreds, of Armenian choirs. He was a wandering balladeer; he improvised epics; he sang. He created hundreds of compositions, magnificent, great, known to all the Philharmonic orchestras of the world. He wrote masses, sung to this day in Armenian churches.

In 1915 the massacre of Armenians began in Turkey. Until the time of Hitler, it was the greatest massacre in world history: 1.5 million Armenians perished. Turkish soldiers dragged Komitas up on a cliff from which they were going to push him. At the last minute his pupil, the Sultan of Istanbul’s daughter, saved him. But he had already seen the abyss, and this made him lose his mind.

...He lived on for twenty more years. He did not make a sound.' --Ryszard Kapuscinski, Imperium (1993)