The Lost Lunar Baedeker by Mina Loy Page A

blurr
    Anything
    Than seduce them
    To the one
    As simple satisfaction
    For the other
    Let them clash together
    From their incognitoes
    In seismic orgasm
    For far further
    Differentiation
    Rather than watch
    Own-self distortion
    Wince in the alien ego
    XXX
    In some
    Prenatal plagiarism
    Fœtal buffoons
    Caught tricks
    â€” — — — —
    From archetypal pantomime
    Stringing emotions
    Looped aloft
    â€” — — —
    For the blind eyes
    That Nature knows us with
    And the most of Nature      is green
    â€” — — — — — — — — —
    What guaranty
    For the proto-form
    We fumble
    Our souvenir ethics to
    â€” — — — — — —
    XXXI
    Crucifixion
    Of a busy-body
    Longing to interfere so
    With the intimacies
    Of your insolent isolation
    Crucifixion
    Of an illegal ego’s
    Eclosion
    On your equilibrium
    Caryatid      of an idea
    Crucifixion
    Wracked arms
    Index extremities
    In vacuum
    To the unbroken fall
    XXXII
    The moon is cold
    Joannes
    Where the Mediterranean — — — — —
    XXXIII
    The prig of passion — — — —
    To your professorial paucity
    Proto-plasm was raving mad
    Evolving us — — —
    XXXIV
    Love — — — the preeminent litterateur

O Hell
    To clear the drifts of spring
    Of our forebear’s excrements
    And bury the subconscious archives
    Under unaffected flowers
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Indeed—
    Our person is a covered entrance to infinity
    Choked with the tatters of tradition
    Goddesses and Young Gods
    Caress the sanctity of Adolescence
    In the shaft of the sun.

The Dead
    We have flowed out of ourselves
    Beginning on the outside
    That shrivable skin
    Where you leave off
    Of infinite elastic
    Walking the ceiling
    Our eyelashes polish stars
    Curled close in the youngest corpuscle
    Of a descendant
    We spit up our passions in our grand-dams
    Fixing the extension of your reactions
    Our shadow lengthens
    In your fear
    You are so old
    Born in our immortality
    Stuck fast as Life
    In one impalpable
    Omniprevalent Dimension
    We are turned inside out
    Your cities lie digesting in our stomachs
    Street lights footle in our ocular darkness
    Having swallowed your irate hungers
    Satisfied before bread-breaking
    To your dissolution
    We splinter into Wholes
    Stirring the remorses of your tomorrow
    Among the refuse of your unborn centuries
    In our busy ashbins
    Stink the melodies
    Of your
    So easily reducible
    Adolescences
    Our tissue is of that which escapes you
    Birth-Breaths and orgasms
    The shattering tremor of the static
    The far-shore of an instant
    The unsurpassable openness of the circle
    Legerdemain of God
    Only in the segregated angles of Lunatic Asylums
    Do those who have strained to exceeding themselves
    Break on our edgeless contours
    The mouthed echoes of what
    Has exuded to our companionship
    Is horrible to the ear
    Of the half that is left inside them.

Mexican Desert
    The belching ghost-wail of the locomotive
    trailing her rattling wooden tail
    into the jazz-band sunset.   .   .   .
    The mountains in a row
    set pinnacles of ferocious isolation
    under the alien hot heaven
    Vegetable cripples of drought
    thrust up the parching appeal
    cracking open the earth
    stump-fingered cacti
    and hunch-back palm trees
    belabour the cinders of twilight.   .   .   .

Perlun
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â the whipper snapper child of the sun
    His pert blonde spirit
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â scoured by the Scandinavian Boreas
    His head
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â an adolescent oval
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â ostrich egg
    The victorious        silly         beauty of his face
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â awakens to his instincts
    A vivacious knick-knack tipped with gold
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â he puts the