Synthesis
That man who wipes his feet upon this grass
Says quick prayer, enters numinous hell.
Though he cannot account, Cappelbaum watches
Petals like hungry cogs, sets profusion of traps.
Pale void whispers softly, "Only thing I
Promise you is that one day you will die."
To him from up there, æroplane seems metal bee.
You, under sky and roof, petition porcelain god.
It is all synthesis. It starts rhet'ric
And ends synthesis, which often includes:
Bird named Chicken, that man indifferent to pie,
Painter who shouts to another, "Hey you! Break brush!"
Runs off into thicket to ally with madneſs.
Let them go to those malls! Let's then go to them all!
Let them out of their prisons! Let poet eat poet!
I will grow out my beard! I will sharpen my spear!
I will let down my hair and this world will know it!
Lifetimes ahead, Cappelbaum imagines ten
Thousand ways to skin cat. He tells you one—"You first
Remove skin to expose ribs…" He will not say
Proven way, secret way they must not have.
But Rocinante trips on level spot
And Cappelbaum stares at their map until
He no longer recognizes his terrain.
He watches cutout hills as I issue
Destruction from cloud cover. Future is here.
For now, we travel his mind's vast, winding
Corridors, for him we must stop to sample,
Listen for signs that repeated use makes
New, touch nostril'd whispers of smoke, unbreathing,
Watch rare filament stretched between two blades.