fond numbskulls of the Gregorian sashay, Steve Parker

Judith Nelson, Girt Lap, 1997, 22X26

fond numbskulls of the Gregorian sashay

… not a word!—Madeleine Shine
… to the whys—Derrida (or another)

this text:txet siht

(boy) leans over ‘is Jack Black?
that (old now) (how) (old) do you (exc’)
as old as he looks-or-as-old-as /he is/
as old as he is meant [to look in this [Au]
as-old-as-he-seems- to-you\/ from a generation
((yawning back his/(my) sorrow))at this *gulfing* back—
back . time . lamp . black . this stretches pain yawns
(yaws) back and back-er (why, somnolent) (chasms) of-the-skull
—more of here the jug-jug bird
a prophetess of course in sibilants sussurates as
‘SO’ a man awakes in there a man who sleeps

afraid he-will-wake-no-more awakes yawing
as a cockencroach top-eero-utsi-de (it the sci-fi genus venus)
through some s-i-d-e-h-o-l-e to see O mere “to see what …

—thereof and of the flit and flitmost the skull (skirl here)
to see what (to-be-borne) so (.frit he is and all afear)—

… Blackjack be” (nothing—slouches ho!—
(is to -be- done about any of it)
in the thing he awakes (don’t s(t)(r)(op)(h)(e) it (‘me’) [now]
exactly not that

(the movie
the (picture plane)(the) screen is of course all-screaming-woman
onto which a film of)

“and the irrecoverable (open mid-back rounded)
sickness of what he just said”

Steve Parker


Review by Jake Tringali

Punk rock.  Basquiat.  This should be read while the Clash lay down a raga 6-minute instrumental, just after their NYC hip-hop phase.  Also, reminds me a little of Vogon poetry, but in the best goddamn way.


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