This is How You Read; Can You Count?


The Age of Pisces is all of history and I am the history of the Jazz Age dancing on tables just me and Zelda charlestoning backwards away from Piscis Borealis into Piscis Occidentalis slippin slidin jumpin from table to table peeing on jeune Arthur peeing on everybody else swimming in literature beaching with the obese Eros wallowing on the sand with the crawling eye I crawling towards the head of the table past silent immobile legs suggesting that I will end my night like this

Sleep comes angry roaring bellows blowing heat into iron the hammer the hammer iron into steel a compound I will compound like an eye I refuse to resort to similes to explain my dreamy anger to you as we bop bop bopping along with the beat skipping when we feel like taking leave of gravity this was not not a simile as I grab your hand and twirl and do the twist again Chubby Eros checkering the dancefloor as we run along the table slipping on heaved plates tumbling towards the floor

The sun rises in Pisces but you and I know it's arbitrary like the order of letters in words or the selection of words to be sentenced by the eye I am led away by Lorca telling me not to come along or else I'll be an extra in the movie of his death that I saw as a child long before I danced with him in New York impersonating women impersonating boys bathing in showers of blood and numbered among the golden hurricanes lashing the belly of a new Age arriving in the 22nd Century

Trimalchio is waiting in a room for his party to result in me inserted into his life so that I can eulogize him into greatness but I will skip past his chair dragging Zelda into the guest room stabbing Eros ripping out his innards and interspersing sex with haruspicy as we read the lines we drew from his gut the entrails trailed by the eye I have learned how to read and I count myself as history lying on a tiled floor passing out furiously expelling the Age through the mouth