Post Atomic Noumenon on the Waterfront where the Carnival Shines

Super, like Ulysses drunk on pomengranite wine

there in the sticks

where the Carnival is full of vomiting vagabonds

singing about that night they beat the s**t out of the other guys

in the supermarket 

that day

and they didn't even realize there were Gypsies nesting on the rooftop of the Walmart,

in the dark spaces that the starlight 

refuses to describe,

some labyrinth of light that exists before the deluge,

when the Apostles and the Orphans

are wandering from nest to nest,

their footsteps like coins

in some video game without beginning or end,

a series of Dances

that bring the Carnival out from the Beginning of Time

and straight into the Suburbs,

where the People are waiting like Empty Rooms

for Infinity to sweep it's painted fingers through the night 

and make the chandeliers swing out against the night,

just as the Gypsy described that day

while gathering fruit on the edge of the Waterfront,

the mountain 

a distant Theatre performing it's magic in the Symbolic Symbiosis of

Labyrinthine Byzantium,

cosmopolitan

pandemonium of post atomic noumenon