THE LAST BALCONY (www.nemonymous.com)

posted Wednesday, 22 August 2007
SOLARIS (A LYTTONY)
by DF Lewis
Whether the King be violet or root o'er whom milling heads
Trip their toe-prints, the body thus trod feels bodiless, too,
Gutted to the loosest bow-string bowel. Rump-torn neck-beds—
Tattered by the ankled feet which wedge them through and through—
Totter a tattoo, a wingèd Orris dance, mouth to stiff hose,
Pink helmet-top to black-blistered bud of a noble heart's rose:

This brotherhood of walking heads, amid froth and feather.
Lem's voyage, with which to troop such thousand (and one) Knights,
Be this lavender love or ghostly fraud (or end of tether),
Was sleep-riven; these tots, tailed, if not topped, in tasselled tights,
Take him humming to Homer sweet home—by simple atonal note:
Dark brood of tusslers to taste King Gulliver's torso they tote.