The small Wheel—but the all
Tom Murphy

The small Wheel—but the all


The small Wheel—but the all
             )(                                  slam dances
Through anthrax residue mail slot.
                                      To it
Tied, Tiresisas, the AC/DC synecdoche of freaks.
            Post(modern)master bellows, "Hey Tire-guy,
            You Flow Chart Hells Bells."

The Theban kilt wearer spews his wad
                        Nylon bonds melts, sniffs like a wildebeest
On the prowl, "Poison, reminds me of feel good Nam flicks for
            Boomers." He retches a hairball in affirmation,

                        And gleans Aphrodite wallpaper pixels.
The TV says, "Sixty-five toss power trap."
                        "Fatwa!  There—" a sinuous fingers waggles
            "There's the capitalist's obsession of boobs in a box. U of
                                    Nineteen press together in papyrus planes,
            Intersectional curve,
                        Identical rectangular objects, parallel juts—mixed media of glass,
 Pentagon, bang                                                                                  (whimper, whimper).
                        And then there's Maude Squad, American Style, look that U. P. UP
            In your Funk & Wagnall."


ACT <Ti Jean's Mysterious Appearance>

Ti Jean fades in to spout,
                        "From Tojo's
Tora Tora Tora
                        To Plato's caves in
Tora Bora,
                                    A malaise covets the
                                    Military industrial complex America.
            Fellaheen pharmaceuticals foists Joan Rawshankers upon
            Ground Zero,
                                    Thus, Codex <0

                                    THIS THINKING HAS STOPPED
             Grace and style
                        On its back                             the world—
                                                            Whispers augmented flute drear
            Of microgroove slips, skips and scratches—                        one velvet hour
                                    Of wheel turns & glides
                                                                        Through night's eternal illumination
The collective unconsciousness'—the Essential Mind's maiden name for the blue sphere

            Rushes via breathing space—the rasps of a gargantuan essence whose sneeze
                                                                             The unfettered dub the big shebang—"


             "A lonely orb, that one dares to call its comprised microcosm's components a bleak-
            House, usurer of microlith in comparison to the vast openings streaking across the
                         Black stratosphere platelets throng in fisticuffs—rather than espousing cohesion.

ACT <Post(modern)master>


                        Hurry! Hurry! Step right up folks
                                                            Queue up awhile;
                                    Come observe impatientness in progress.
                                                            Be sure to strap-on a bulletproof vest.
                                                Watch inefficiency ream the average episitolarian
                                                            In favor of church brochures &
                                                                                                Outdated coupons,
                                                                        Flooding your box.
                                                                                    Don't forget the sample packets;
                                                                                                Stay Free Mini Pads.

                                    Buy a Bugs Bunny tie for the family anarchist.
                                    In addition, receive a free gift—a spore mailing kit.
                                    Spread the plague
                                    No sex involved.

                        Here's the latest feature, the
                                    Ombudsman of tubers & wakes
                                    Syntattein of vagabonds for future waves.
                                    ∏óσιμo αιμα  ∏óσιμo θηλεiα.     <Drinking blood.  Drinking Tab.>
                                                            Take it away,

ACT <I, Tiresisas>

Enter Tiresisas.  Blood drips from his lips.

TIRESISAS.      I, Tiresisas,
                                    Wish to thank Sigmund's
                                    Obsession with miniature fertility statuettes
                                                And his mommy's firm handgrip
                                    A wholesome kickstart to
                                                My blind vortex(t)

Is that you, Atta-boy—
            Playing into their military contracts
                        On the Portland library stool?
            With your prayer, forgive me Allah,
                        Then boots Hotmail, snarls,
Fiber optic currents ripple.

                        Jupiter flight school
Bouncing         Money transfers                                              bouncing
                        Flight schedules
                        Fresh blades
                        Rising above Portland's
                        West Promenade's beeches
Bouncing         Over sun bright sea of the Cod                       bouncing
                        First class cash-wad 
                        In & out of Logan
                        Hot coffee—a rubber biscuit
                        Fundamentalist Al-Qaeda cave theory
Bouncing         No woman at the grave site                            bouncing
                        Throat slit
Bouncing                                                                                 bouncing


Gold swept placid Hudson
Snakes towards tortured harbor
The pathway, giant road marker
The glide down Manhattan,
                                    To the old North Tower
                                    One light or two?

                         —The heavens fall

                                    We hope you've enjoyed our synaxis
                                                                        Our little thanksgiving
                                                                                    All the codified trimmings
                                                                                                Deflowered in a plume
                                                                                    Like lost Etruria.

                                                If you're lucky, your roads will be remembered,
                                                                        Not your bombs or Super Dome games.

                                                                        The torpor of the business of America
                                                                                    Is business
                                                                        So also said Silent Cal,
                                                                                    You loose.
                        My perament descent into Earth's bowels
                                    Invoke me not
                                                The harbinger is a new torchbearer
                                                            I, Tiresisas, return to the fallow fields
                                    Of darkness in smuge silence.

                                    With no further to do,
                                                            I want to introduce Auchschim Tschitey.
                                    A man whose name means Wild Spirit
                                    A man who denies inventing Magic Lantern.
                                    A man who's had America under his nails,
                                    Grubbing for vegetables.


ACT <Auchschim Tschitey>

TSCHITEY.    Heed my adhortatio here and now.
                                    I've kept the vigil of silence by the fire surrounded in darkness
                                    The dogs' fog-breath no longer bates me as they circle bleary eyed,
                                    Panting for heat and meat in the lanes of NYC & DC.  My path as
                                    Interlocutor has led me from my birth Sequoia, through Rock House
                                    Meadow to Loma Prieta, from the ancient cathedral in Lund to the shark  
                                    Temple on the Island of Hawaii to tell you, from my heart.
                                    Heed not the WTO or the Economic Big Eight's apodioxis.
                                    Please, remember Meena, cut down in Quetta by a bough
                                    Of the KGB family tree, KHAD.  Please lower your burqas
                                    Enough for the sun to light your Faces.  Please let Aung San
                                    Suu Kyi walk among Burmese people again.  Please listen
                                    To Rigoberta Menchu speak for the forgotten indigenous
                                    People of the world.
                                    Remember, the universe awaits freedom for its entire
                                    Denizens & let women be women, & loved by all.