raningdeo is lord of poogul
annals and antiquities of todast'han
annals and antiquities of todast'han
a quadritridvadashamrilleglia
for horses or humans or spirits or litters
on the occasion of the days of the dead
with thanks to the myths in time and the times
of myth
for the majnūn, who know no rest
whose voice is the disavowed word
for the majnūn, who know no rest
whose voice is the disavowed word
raningdeo
is lord of poogul, a fief of jessulmer, its heir sadoo the terror returning
from a foray with a train of captured motbots and calendars and society
settling like a tin djinn into its domestic night
the
town itself is nothing, a ghazipur of discontinuities rising from the rohilkhand
into a babel of stench and religion that were it transit might be charred rakes derailed with their corpses still in bed
the
terror runs now from azamgarh to renukoot, its pillage clanking through the
many meters of its draw and time and words like cracked fotdellas on a pilgrimage
to a ghost museum of the memory of noise
raningdeo’s
not in poogul but feudal rawul bersi and the mooltans tend to the lord’s tender
tenders which have weakened due to changes in the politics of movement and a
hump slug’s usurpation
majnūn
don’t rule the town and some say in disputed tales its rabid refuse rises from
the majnūn’s lack of power, not in sigils and the like but in vivo in the
councils in cloister in that
scrimmage in the night
its
heir like wallabies rides now like clepsydral drops of chartreuse green, its
capture clunk and skeleton and days like charades of mobs in objectless trances
in thrall to hydroponic hallucinations of a diwali bed
raningdeo
was born in poogul but jessulmer’s the thing and it scuttles subbul sing of
feeroz when it can though the rahtore-bhattis of mehwo-birsil dislike this subterfuging
and make behind a lot of noise
waste
like love’s not much of time but in accursed excess comes into time and so the
town has much of waste and little love and the majnūn hide in death’s and
language’s conjunction, that usurpation
from
foray to poogul tears raningdeo’s scion, all booties flying now like english pigeons
who’ve sloughed their heritage to scrying ghouls infiltrating the souls of christians
in the pull and track of night
but
raningdeo’s, who will not die in poogul but baber rawul bersi in no care of rao’s
ensemble neither economical nor kind and jessulmer like polymers an ideal chain
of random walking, in bed
so
the town like talk or clocks scrabbles to heights of middenness which in turn
return the gaze and sniff on lonely majnūn loafing through the lands of
thoughts of corpses turning a different noise
sadoo,
as the bed of bersi fades and the lord’s night roused, as noise of toxic
mountain nears and majnūn falter to dawns of screeching pillage, too falls to a
reeking council’s cloister’s usurpation
the
madness that has been socially politically and philosophically repressed
has
nonetheless made itself heard
has survived as a speaking subject
only in and
through literary texts
between
literature and madness there exists an obscure but essential kinship
a
kinship entailed precisely by whatever blocks them off
by that which destines
them alike to repression and disavowal
