The Queen of certain uncertainty

The Queen of certain uncertainty
With wings of whirling razor sharp 'copter blades
Laughs quietly as she slashes way through the undergrowth
of toxic history.

Oceans of remorse
Volcanoes of encroaching
absence
Distant promises re-aligned
The pure black cats prowl
In groups of thirty-nine
Good bye King David
Good bye Pork-pie hat.

Cordoba calls her flames flames
Cordoba has plaited her shadow.
Cordoba is the intangible vortex of
of any expectation
She lives above the storm
Creating an oasis of
abandonment.
She transmits strength
Through the essence of her
Kaleidoscopic
mon visible nakedness.
Returning from Hades
She laid out her stash
Nothing but unattainable
knowledge.
'All that is centred in hope is
hopeless.
Only absolute uniqueness has any chance of not being consumed
by blandness.'
Poor Ezra Pound losing his
centre
Through fighting the world.
'What thou lovest well remains
The rest is dross.
What thou lovest well shall
not be reft from thee
What thou lovest well is thy
true heritage.
Pull down thy vanity.'
O my 'Sad Captains'. Poor Percy washed up and burnt on the
lonely shore. The One
remains...'Thou art a beaten
dog beneath the hail.
A swollen magpie in a fitful sun
Not knowest wing from tail.
Pull down thy vanity.
I say pull down.
The ant's a centaur in his
dragon world.
Pull down the vanity.

The swimmer's arms become
branches.'

The women do not come but go but And And paddle up to their waists
on Margate sands.
Then the jingle whirling around everyone's head is slowly found to be Cordob's silent
imprecations
Everyone is flattened.
Nothing can be heard but low
down moaning.
Yes Mr Eliot---your last whimper.
No big bang.
No big bang.
No big bang