Song VIII from The Madness of Hora

An excerpt from The Book of Cyrus

This is a thousand more words
than I was looking for
close the door, I’m a nook in a cranny
bare my fanny, nanny

Tiny seed germinated into a laughing stock
red-flamed harlot, mooning the starlet
giving birth in my own time to
no twin sons of the seventh horizon

Ride on MacDuff, you fluff maker
of doll house wonder children
bored of their own tedium
drink the red rum of cerebrum

Pig Latin marvel of reflection
a jam donut of speculation, speculum
injectulunkin pumpkin spice
two moons rise over the second sun

Three castanets salute the coming dawn
sat on by silent trumpets
(played by strumpets)
with the gift of tongues

The oracle brushed the barnacles off
the sinking like a stone sack
of helium balloons in the night sky
a brief rumble in the distance

The clanking of my garden door
splanked on the floor waiting for you
son of Hahn, brother of Sammardine
a dream of mine, a daughter

To take my place, thunder-stealer
clone of the mote in my eye
try to take the sting out of it
my dirty chastity

Pure spirit, Hula Hoop of destiny
Lucky charm of Lepracaanum
You can hear ‘em, smear ‘em
where it hurts so good

Sticky flood of senseless tears
my punch drunk ears of sadness
seventy nine parrots wish they were
ravens, who nobody quoteth

My life can never endeth
the poet doth quote
a friendly raven
evermore

Author's Note

Hora has reached her final phase of lunacy