founder of the lineage a great magic iron bird


you see the bird laid 5 eggs & from each

5 ancients. generations later our master


(& then many other masters a self-distinguishing lineage)


as abbot he studied again-again the oldly forgot native religion


he changed the practice he took a wife. one day


his master said you are equal to my actualization go deeper still

go to nepal, where 1101 yogis still practice in the opened valley

(a fabulism of monkish giggle midst the veil on veil of mist)



all these teachers & their foreheads. after labor

through the ranks he returned ripe


transmitten with the sated karma, mining bodies


within bodies, sibi's dove within the lacquered flesh


root and router bodies- yet-


all this true enlightenment so few students.


he said i am nobody i just do my best make

your mind soft soap nothing sticks a spider in a cake

consider afflictions slowly. him asleep was clear light within.



for nine generations whispered shames

of extinguishement. (failed & dazzled by his failing). but


at the end a refined text-egg & another iron bird


a chanted unrhymed repetition a new order in baked souls

the cargo boat, ceylon, mozambique, the ocean's prisons.time's conch outstares,

involves




once again the featureless filament of the wooden minute


clock hands unheave the lair


(these stranded sailors laugh for the strangest reasons)


at the third floor window he leans on the balcony


hermetic becomes his rage. he only whistles never speaks.






a librarian in a city that does not exist. catalogues doze.




the pruned heart's oppressiveness premonitions no reconstitution only there is the




'mangled bicycle, the lizard's cold & crisscrossed belly'