Happy Book Hotel, citadel mispronounced,
andiron scaffold for an axis mundi tongues
may master. Embarrassed stump, harelip slog,
gut flames a hopped-up revivalist strings to-get-her.
Footwork in mouth. Each character a being on
pages strung together like car lot flags, many flavors
are willing to signify a Chimlob Pluvel, Spordand Darmaxle,
Wiflentip Jaranick, Bernie Stagworchetis, Monsle Daytrap,
Chavelsby Thundreck, Mochabis Orchonk, Verropandilus Sinko,
Walecha Fundry, Kallerish Labuxo, Calbor Zibwintock, Yawfrond McGee.
Make it an offer, it’s been trumpeted as castle-like, diction-
proof, plot-encumbered, but plainly isn’t a familiar
adverbial trait. Can be tossed off into throes in a
matter of minutes, script laid down like a mastered
machine, bicycled. Stuff crammed out, only admitted
are singular thinglets on their way to plurality. A
jingle-guilty hotel, resplendent of sheer creation,
which rattles off names inside noble boxes
atop suffixed tables, the liar’s science—postulates
whose blocks interlock inside the tar fragrant
freight of evermore creators. What is the ceiling
for a line language housed in the conceptual framework
of a transit station (HB) and where might the inspiration
for such an aligned project give a diluted incoherence
a natch state of perpetual hesitation? Opened hatch.
How does such structure physically comport an
actual book? Above the void loosen chains,
let mists remember. Misremembered
holothurian paper dolls, carved desks
from childhood where letters learned to seal
the temple where honesty is upended, any flash
that deprecates absolute names, parts of whah
we wuh, a feather’s gram. Maat, two becoming
one, rigid plot renounced in favor of egg occluded,
nimbus numbered to a specially known
scriptus compass. Vajra, yoni, pop a boney!
Let’s teasing get greased, taste in shapes, black figure
pommes de terre, grail simulation studies in eight
gambling rooms, wrack plastic stippled gumshoe
horse chesnut pickpocket Lambeth tower
old gimp knuckles sap wood shaking placid
waves grin fable notes serrated tryst poach fish
garment garnish travail nasturtium cave qualms
stovepipe robe stylus switcher loom bower’s made.
Omphalos the true grave, sundered by frames
in ago, chartering a human crest: the nombril.
