“The pearls were his fallen eyes: contra humanitaram mercanturam”
DR. W.F.N. BENTON, J.M. Spalding & Colleen Kennedy
The jewel of the vanishing twilight
I can never speak of,
Until I rest to rot and spoil.
And wish the very worms
Will have me consumed, the ‘pearls
That were his eyes,’ devour
My poisoned kidney and liver;
disemboweled in frost and snow,
Whereby, that very dagger,
My spleen, severed my tongue,
Which my ancestors said of chin-mook ,
Of silence that speaks, by never saying
anything at the drop of a dime.
Maidens of youth, were I ever
to love; I can’t ever say that I have-
Or is it a lie told by
the “God haunted,
Cruel Talent of Russ,”
Which has become the truth?
Tell her if you see him, he remains dead
And buried on a fragrant bed of lilies.
The sisters of Mercy and Terror
of Retribution, shall know, wielding
staff and sword, for a remnant of
seven thousand reserved from
the annals of time, vanguard those
who are left dead in tawdry barber
and salon shops--- far corners of
the metropolis, pilfered lots---
the fallen tropical torrential rain,
was shot when she repented
The rackets of the flesh.
The mercenaries of beasts,
sold her pound for pound,
Flesh for flesh, picked their teeth
with a mint deck of laminated
Chosun cards, with the soft
metallic polish of finishing nails.
Circles and Spirals of Light,
The gentle cadence of broken sibilants,
Deferred gutturals, which cry
Out from the hidden fount and portents
of creation of primeval sorrow and glory,
dusk, shadow and tempest.
The ubiquitous dawn, now, let us arise
O Rider of the raging seas
of lies, perennial doubt, and the
illusory devils, demon gods,
overthrowing my enemies.
You stretched out your shriveled
hand to save my child from drowning
by the salty shores at bay across
the fishing colony.
Sovereign divine you sold yourself
into slavery to set captives free.
One’s eyes, awaken, to hear,
The pupils and retina burnt by
the Sun, no longer burn with the passion
And pride of life, and lust of the eyes,
but fulfilled in the hope
Of the eskaton of the return,
Of divers dominion, times and deadly straits
reported, but the sequence of the
Actual left unsaid.
Kristavara & Ann [a] ya-mariam wanted it that Way,
a resident of the Eastern Isle Prefect
via Diamond Junction.
She remembered the discourse of the pre-eminent
Theologist who scripted: “She Who is,” and
read while drinking chrysanthemum tea, the novelle,
just released translation of Lombroso’s La donna delinquente
by the renowned City historian.
Luxury and the high life of thieves were all too much
a bane; she figured that it was mass bankruptcy or
And the woman was blessed though the breaking of chains.
Would you deceive yourself to be an auditor
of the wise, when your folly and idiocy, has twisted
And breached upon what was never said?
The flame burned in my heart,
which cried out in exhortation and admonition:
[“sancta mea amor crucifixus est”]
Father Juan, tortured and kidnapped,
a night of consecrated purgation;
wherefore, ascending the ladders of suffering,
did not confound darkness with the light,
light from the darkness, thick smoke from fire.
So did I fall prey to the imprisoned conundrums
of hallucinatory and spiritual vertigo, not like Father
She the Mystical Bride to whom
De La Cruz was wed.
at the shrine in Tagaste. . .
the martial mind of calm of the Tatagatha [aside]
history, culture and philosophy.
It is snuffed at the break of day to chase demons away,
Though rekindled within a lamp at nightfall…
Come l’augello, intra l’amate fronde,
posato al nido de’ suoi dolci nati
la notte che le cose ci nasconde,
For the world has become a stone pitted cherry.
At the parish, the church of Our Lady of Good Counsel
And the Sacred Heart, I cried out to God, Christ and holy Church-
Dehydrating, and rushed to the hospital, in steed of rails and barbed and quartered
Fenced halls, where I soon owe much more to time, than I shall ever know.
This the wager of Pilgrim’s Regress?
Sancta Rosa, Lumen Coeli!
Ave, Sanctus Spirtus Vertitatis et Lumenis,
ON M’S ORATORIO: ELIJIAH
“ Intertia and matter do not account for the peculiar death of the shadow.”
Dr. Warren Benton, Dean James Levine
Dr. Michael Jacobson, Dr. J.I. Kleinig, Dr. E. Mandery,
Dr. H. Feingold
Gautam, Chandu, Vivek & ANITA Ramakrishna, M.D., Dr. Prof. Michele Lowrie,
Benjamin X. Liu, John T. Choi, Shaun Van Beverhaudt
Dr. Prof. Adolf Soto
Rhoda Fisher, Roz Lev, Cathy Green,
J. P. Wiener
In Memory of the Works of Ram Bam, St. Thomas, Godwin, Alan Westin
[ my Grand-father, Huh Sook, Ki Suk-Steve & Bok Yun Kim]
Beethoven [perhaps] did not know
THIS ode his Joy & cortex singing.
Milton blind, he deaf-were
Their torsos joined at the hip-
They may have wandered
Through the wilderness, waiting,
But M knew the body would
Praise the living finding the
Lost without needles in haystacks,
Where there is no thread or ticket stubs.
Who is YWHW praising the graves
Of the dead-Babylon, were He to weep
Over the City, that vomited out the
The game vexed with riddles
Of three turtle-doves, eight broken wheels,
& nine skulls, which mirrored
And the Word was never spoken,
No speech for words that lie
Against Reality, only rubbing
against the salt of your brows,
such that shall you drown by breathing.
AND THE SPARROWS CRIED OUT TEN!
/The FABLIAU OF THE SMOKE OF SATAN/
Death by no easy words,
Other recourse to the door
Of true hollow bone &
Noah built the Ark,
while the Rest drank
Nothing less than poison.
The primrose courtly remembrance,
the lotus-rose of the morning star,
of celestial Jerusalem in peace and glory-
Hastings, London & Dublin, Scotland-
Neither under spellbound trance,
not divested, nor cast into shards,
pillaged then restored.
The peregrine dust of Mr. Dedalus,
who sacrificed booty for poetry,
whom the gods of muses praised worthy.
Beata America Virginia!
“Analytics of a Paralytic Crown: Alarums of Love”
Jeden Teil des Satzes, der sienen Sinn charakterisiert,
Nenne ich einen Ausdruck (ein Symbol).
Die operation kann verschwinden (z. B. die Verneinung
In “~~p”. ~~p= p).
- --L. Wittgenstein
Rev. Fr. K. Kowalski, Rev. Fr. G. Emeka, Rev. Msgr. P. Carney,
Rev’d Canon J. King, Dr. J, Flavin , Dr. M.Powers.,
Drs. F_B Bonaparte & J. Stern.
Dr. N. Birns [Da_ga_ta],
[Drs. R. & H. Sullivan, Don B. Latzer]
C.Weinstein.M.D. Dr. A. Schwartz, Lisa Walker, G.Borean,
Dr. Roger L. Deakins, Dr. John. Maynard
Christina—Aunty--Czechowicz, and Dr. Mary Gibson, Dr. Michele Lowrie
Benjamin X. Liu, and John T. Choi
Lucy and Tom Tucker
[Huh Sook, Steve & Bok Yun Kim, Julie, Sanghyub, Michele Lee, Grace, & Russell.]
and pitted pomegranates on tables
in Caesar’s colonnade and garden
cracked vessels, water.
in the desert: Impenetrable
shelter of Octavian in blind
avenues without signs,
that only a perverse
generation wouldst seek.
Fig leaves built on stilts—the castle of heaven.
I am no castle lord,
But a diseased supplicant.
No, a penitent of sorts.
To whom I give alms---
Were you to sip loose tea leaves.
The cypress trees that cover and provide shade
from congenital heat.
A Serial-Sexual Homicide, dysthymic
The wheel comes full circle toward none.
Shall not enter my rest.
And for my crime.
Just gods have severed my limbs.
Hoc Enim Est—Meum Corpum.
Blood spatter, no DNA trace.
Ricard, a loathsome fool of murderous lusts,
Repeated the word of his father-“I-M-I”-
Does he now dare to forget
the curse of Adam’s dust.
Down trodden, sterile heath?
Does heaven descend
now upon the earth,
the den of opium,
And monstrous visions,
Aggrieved and sorrowful;
Await the palm of a slain
and resurrected King for no day
The sword of Maccabeus,
& Judith, shavo (a) d
the holy death of Akiva
a throne unbeknownst
only to heart of the cosmopolitan masses,
but on the hillside in remote land—
of harvest of millet, barley and wheat,
the unveiled hilt of John Shellei-Hopkins [ John, ed. Note: please place a an accent on the “i” after the “e” ] pressed upon his synoptic purple ink,
spraying seed on peeled, parched papyrus sheets.
And the children weep embracing an olive branch;
They who remember with joy,
Sancta Papa Joannes Pablo II wearily made pilgrimage from Krakow
To the springs and viaduct of the blood of Rome
@ Central Park, 1995.
The coliseum---a spectacle---festal Broadway of
a forgotten age.
And the narrow the way to forestall the open pit of destruction.
The sacramental Oxford script of Nikolai Blake
transmitted in triadic vagaries of space in Village-Square:
in Spellman Hall at Rose Hill, and she said:
Da-mitzvah & the Police.
herein the Bronx,
El Senor Diego!
a fallen spirit cast out, like a link
on a chain, from thine eyes torn,
by hearing the holy Avery Cardinal Dulles
tonal music, which comes across from Saxony to Anglia
[in note of Father Andrewes of the Resurrection of late Edwardian
Church of England, blessed Merton’s passing by the Cathedral of St. John the Divine]
“His Craft of Theology’-thereof the assurance of things hoped
for, in light room, and shaven, were with all akin to gentle manners,
Illuminating the dark glass of shadows.
Dr. Fr. Koterski, S.J., philosopher of the laurelled Fiorenza poet,
and Jaspers, unworthy am I to listen to their words
in a mind-locked vortex.
[Gazing at the lofty, terror, trembling of the cliff aside Mon Salvatt and
Mt. Sorak, a delirious fool in spirit may pray- had she met him and felt- untidy, foul, despicably grotesque, rat-faced want to be beggar, in need and want of poverty of spirit, always perspiring with too much talk in nakedness of conscience and Law, unbending the fastening of the frail incendiary body and flesh given.]
They were first evicted, and then convicted; and made a perfect act of contrition in jail.
Passing a false $10, 000 check to pay off their bills and debts.
Stricken by a whip and cane of discipline,
AND the ALARUMS of LOVE
only a dry, hardly feverish kiss, enamored was he by a cheap peck.
None other than a true gift of peace of the Cross,
Of an unrequited dream world of observance.
Sr. Dorothy Stang, martyred in the rain forests of Brazil in shanty hovels,
who procured the rights of the poor, dismissing politics.
Places where it always rain, only if you
care to hold wide an umbrella, as many have,
were there enough hands
to scribble down on tattered pieces of rags and paper---
a forlorn paper cathedral, invisibly etched on her breasts,
the tattoos of the Immaculate Heart & MAGNIFICAT.
For her death was hardly the sum total of all.
In limestone pavements marked with an ancestral burial shroud.
Wonder if helena, mary, anne, jane, or tom, jack, frank, harold . . .
have surmounted or bi-passed the threshold of committal, though they never marry & whether they did wake up from eternal sleep?
As the Ole traditionalist Mob say: “Mess with wives, kitchen knives.”
Sun Michelle Hee Lee born in a grass-roof chapel by
the grotto of Kyeong-Jeu, the forbearing willow trees of Nanju,
where blood is shed to overthrow the reign of mourning.
Now let me ask you for whom does Poe’s” beloved Israfael,” the Great
Of Sorrow weep, for whose children of dome and provincial
Lands of the Dome of the Rock, The House of the LORD,
And the House of the Patriarchs of Israel.
No where, a newly built edifice and terrace-
starlight bathing the promontory shores of any where.
She claws, before she can walk or crawl,
At the jar of apple cereal, darling niece.
RVEILLANCE, CRIME & PHILOSOPHY & CULTURE