In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

The Plea Round about midnight the clock's ugly stare hangs in mental repose & its antimagnetic second hand measures a man's descent. Bop,bop,bebop,rebop. The bottom falls out of each dreamthe silver spike is in my hands & I'm on the floor. The Alice in Malice does a little soft shoe on my troubled heart. Hot & heavy, cool & cosmic honeydripper fingers play the missing notes inbetween life & death round midnight. Bop, bop, bebop, rebop. Lost lovers in my empty doorway groove to a sweet pain in the bruise-colored neon where my soul weaves itself into terra incognita, into the blue & green sounds of Botany Bay reflected like rozellas through the big, black slow dance of waves grinding against the shore. Bop, bop,bebop,rebop. Thelonious & bright as that golden plea of gospel under everything Monk wrung from the keys. Round about midnight despair returns each minute like a drop of moonshine elongating into rapture moaned through Bird's mouthpiece in a soundproof room I63 from February in Sydney where trust & love is white dust on the dark furniture. Time is nothing but an endless bridge. All those who thought they could use my body for nowhere's roadmap I see their blank faces float up from a whirlpool as the turntable spins. Bop, bop, bebop,rebop. Each undying note resounds in my head; there's a cry in every pocket & low swell of unhappy lust I've suffered, & round about midnight the odor of sex & salvation quivers in each song the wooden hammers strike from wire strings like anger stolen back from the soil. N EON V ERN A C U L A R ...

Share