Saturday, July 13, 2013

Istanbul, yes Istanbul,


And no more garments than were needful,
Because Turkish has no gender,
The appearance of truth,
She, he and it,
Turkish has one,
O,
Will fail to effect who shuns verisimilitude,
And truth to nature,
Shepherdess without temptation,
Especially as a sign of respect,
To anoint my right eye,
With an indefinite compound,
Pouring upon the barren earth.


And raises her hand to her forehead,
Istanbul, yes Istanbul,
Slowly,
Coupled with the menstrual cycle,
Temporarily store elastic energy during the throw,
Gives the person of a possessor,
Of the object,
Named by the island,
I am an island,
Has her hand on her womb,
Now only coming to a resolution,
She reads a poem,
And lo! he springs upon his feet in pain.


Thought for example,
Be created,
In the environmental confluence of natural grain-producing areas,
With pasture and forest,
By mother,
It is better to debate without answering,
She who gives birth,
But was herself not born of any,
May yield to the prevailing wisdom,
That encourages the substitution of,
A part for the whole,
Guardian clutching an ankh in her claws.

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