(T)Here in the Hall of Records - an introductory poem
PZZZst....
(T)Here in the hall of records
A radio-sound unspools like a silver thread.The sound isPulled from the wheelAnd drawn from the horizon.It stretches out in a curved whole-noteAnd always meets resistance from the static-frayed yarnInhibiting this place.
How many astronomers and poetsCould not answer the Hexagonal Riddle?We cannot say, but they numbered many.They fell into an orb-webbed centerAnd were caught on the convex surface.There, planets sequenced the space betweenStarsWhile discontented beetlesBrought gifts to Ptolemy's wife,Queen of Cats.
We're standing here, you and I...I'm 7 or 8 and pissing in the toilet.In that moment, I think, "I'll never remember this..."I think,"I'LL NVER REMMBER THS MOMNT."
Ah, but I do...And you do, too.
[Stupid things they offer in these moments!]
The beetles gathered in columns and rows to carryThe message hidden in shredded rags.The seamstress would take these ragsAnd sew them intoProspero's sail,Which accountsFor much of the yarn.
The beetles gathered in columns and rows to carry
The message hidden in shredded rags.
The seamstress would take these rags
And sew them into
Prospero's sail,
Which accounts
For much of the yarn.
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