The Devil's Word
This thing Allegiance, as I suppose,
Is a ring fitted in the subject's nose,
Whereby that organ is kept rightly pointed,
To smell the sweetness of the Lord's anointed.
The flabby wine-skin of his brain
yeild to some pathologic strain,
And voids from its unstored abysm
The driblet of an aphorism.
"Hail, holy Ass" the quiring angels sing;
"Priest of Unreason, and of Discords King!
Great co-Creator, let Thy glory shine:
God made all else; the Mule, the Mule is thine!"
O, the Lord of Law on the Throne of Thought,
A gilded imposetor is he.
Of shreds and patches his robes are wrought,
His crown is brass,
Himself is an ass..
He was a slave: at word he went and came;
His iron collar cut him to the bone.
Then Liberty erased his owner's name,
Tightened the rivets and inscribed his own.
"This is the end," the sick man said
In faint and failing tones.
A moment later he was dead,
And Tambourine was Bones.
Intimacy, n. a relation into which fools are providentially drawn for their mutual destruction.
The more they said, the more they felt
Their spirits with emotion melt,
Till tears of sentiment expressed
Their feelings. Then they effervesced!
So Nature executes her feats
Of wrath on friends and sympathetes
The good old rule who won't apply,
That you are you and I am I.
The Devil's Dictionary, Morris, 1999.
Is a ring fitted in the subject's nose,
Whereby that organ is kept rightly pointed,
To smell the sweetness of the Lord's anointed.
The flabby wine-skin of his brain
yeild to some pathologic strain,
And voids from its unstored abysm
The driblet of an aphorism.
"Hail, holy Ass" the quiring angels sing;
"Priest of Unreason, and of Discords King!
Great co-Creator, let Thy glory shine:
God made all else; the Mule, the Mule is thine!"
O, the Lord of Law on the Throne of Thought,
A gilded imposetor is he.
Of shreds and patches his robes are wrought,
His crown is brass,
Himself is an ass..
He was a slave: at word he went and came;
His iron collar cut him to the bone.
Then Liberty erased his owner's name,
Tightened the rivets and inscribed his own.
"This is the end," the sick man said
In faint and failing tones.
A moment later he was dead,
And Tambourine was Bones.
Intimacy, n. a relation into which fools are providentially drawn for their mutual destruction.
The more they said, the more they felt
Their spirits with emotion melt,
Till tears of sentiment expressed
Their feelings. Then they effervesced!
So Nature executes her feats
Of wrath on friends and sympathetes
The good old rule who won't apply,
That you are you and I am I.
The Devil's Dictionary, Morris, 1999.
posted by ldbug at Wednesday, April 26, 2006
5 Comments:
This is your life, it doesnt get any better than this.
It should.
This is a strange poem, can you tell me about it? I was lost but I may need to read it a couple of times. I love reading poetry, my first impression is this maybe about hypocaracy or a trickster as a mentor?
Candy
It's a combination of poems, and it is hypocaracy
Anyway, I'll be posting as normal soon, just need to get some work going for a very, very important meeting next thurs...
oh my god, thanks for deciphering my terrible spelling and typos, yikes thats funny. I should read before I click on publish.
Hope the important meeting went well
Candy
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