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Only flowers and chrome survive here.

write a poem about mussolini's brain at st elizabeth's asylum in the style of ezra pound's cantos

"In corridors where echoes chase,
In the asylum’s shadowed grace,
A mind once crowned in iron spire,
Lost in the maze of spectral fire.

Hushed murmurs, the silent creed,
Where fate and folly intercede,
The brain of iron, now a rust,
Buried in the asylum’s dust.

Time’s cruel mockery, wraiths enshrine,
In halls where light dare not confine,
A labyrinth of fractured dreams,
Writ in the softest, maddest seams.

Legacies of steel and rage,
Map of a tyrant's final stage,
The Dictator’s tangled skein,
Etched in the asylum’s rain.

Here the echoes softly scream,
Fragmented thoughts like shattered dream,
A state of madness, grandeur fell,
Within the asylum’s gloomy shell.

His mind a tattered war-scarred cloth,
Woven in ambition’s broth,
Threads of conquest, fierce and vain,
Twisted in this dark domain.

Lost in the shadows of his reign,
A psyche torn by pride and pain,
An empire's roar, now soft dismay,
In the asylum’s cold decay.

The ghosts of Rome, in silence chant,
Histories in shadows plant,
Of glory marred and tyrants’ woe,
Where once the fervent winds did blow.

Here lies a tale of grandeur's blight,
In the asylum’s somber light,
Where Mussolini's mind does fade,
In the echoes of the past parade."

--ChatGPT

White Sands.

a set of glass slides · clues
after the cataclysm

only down the corridor
from where they come to hear

disordered brain cells
still can't decipher

bundle of sticks

Unscrambling Stories.