Io!

Io!

Another day, between walls of sham Mycenian. Eternal watcher of things, spread supine on slanted grass field. Turkish mothers in distance, a dragon of a dog rustling the ferns. "Sordel, Sordello, which Sordello?" Earlier: Yung Delftian boater mocks my frown across barrier of water.

Basque surname resounds through the green dawn. Awaken with Spanish melon lying next to head. Diamond-mind of double. Earlier: Yung Roman Gaggi in Chelsea trainer, not even bothering to watch Chelsea semi-final on kiosk TV across the street. 

Ni pratz ni rams ni boscs ni flors

Ni grolsch ni duvel ni hertog jan

Wine-water, Σιγα, σιγα. Thy fur row. "Heavy vine on the oarshafts." "Lynx-purr and heathery smell  of beasts." "Leopards sniffing the grape shoots by scupper-hole." Io!, remaining non-doplhin, instead resting sandily before Nazi dune-bunkers. This realm of leisure was once awaiting invasion with loaded cannons. Hard to believe as elderly Dutchman walks nude across horizon. Not me— I'm not willing to provide further evidence for the ultimate aesthetic superiority of the female body. 

Ελανδρος and Ελεπτολις. Man-destroying and City-destroying. Poor old Vanderpyl, with rosy opium glow stand before window hesitating. Here stands a sham Mycenian. Athens, 1976. Bike path around Acropolis. "Beer-bottle on the statue's pediment! ... And the passion endures. Against their action, aromas."

And Henry James, "who says I broke her heart?" Delusional searcher disappointed with delusional searcher. Who finds what they are looking for? Broken-heart of a simple mind. "The passion of it, the continual passion of it in this man who, fools said, didn't 'feel'. I have never yet found a man of emotion against whom idiots didn't raise this cry."