The Exile of Ray Lahoon
Raise your hands to the
painted ceiling
worked over with stars
and orbs and spheres
and laws
Raise them as I raise mine
High up there! You down below there
Chanting the King’s goodly knell of death
Chanting, your song should wax
Your song must swell!
Sing ye’
As t’were your last:
The King
Of Firstwrought Emp’ror borne
All bones now
Has only slown
The King
From ages shorn
All rags now
Has outward flown
The King
His earthly home now
Has gone to grass
Has gone to stone
But the tower
Still stands
Ceaseless
It penetrates the air
Ceaseless
Its cellars,
Dug deep,
are filled – not bare
and we
are not alone!
Hold! Halt now
Your dirge must stop
Your song must cease
Your words must melt
into a movement
Must quake into your hands
Must needs squirm into your feet
Once dormant
Yes, lift them up so high!
Shuffle your plower’s feet against the ground
Toward the ceiling made of glass
Move them so below as I do mine
So low there! Yes shuffle them
Till the glass cracks above
And quakes with the fear of you
Your mobbish hands
All worms and bruising bands
Your mobbish feet
Aglow and now made complete
An animal
So made of men
A warrior
Is a man
Who kills ten
And takes ears
And teeth
For fetishes then
Shuffle them! Hey
As I do mine
Shuffle them! Hey
You there, stand!
And as I slide like winds
And tides
The old king dies
The old king has died
Look you two
You man and ewe!
Seest thou what you have done!
And imagine what that mob
Might now in quaking do
Split blood, bone, spit and loam
Gin bottled cracked, new blood-drunk wonders on loan
With drinking turvy, a mass of tumescence
Our cast of men and those like unto men
Those grown-up boys who shall defend
This tower against the roving
Gypsy
Hands
Ahoo
And who has dropped his task?
The men holler
The men ask.
We must goad him toward a corner
And beat him to a bruise
Till he’s black and blue
Till he’s not but a mass of wounds
The first blood drawn
We thus might prepare
For what we must next do
Out in the open air
Assassin! Hey
The assassin must be cut
In two
Hey! You! There
Did you sting your hands
Did your knuckles tear?
In dropping the rope
Did you fail? Or did you dare?
Assassin! Hey
The assassin must be cut
In two
You there! They claim foul play
Is it you
who failed to hold
Or did you dare
to slay our Lord?
Aye, sir, hold! He failed only
And did not dare
Seest thou my father’s right hand
Is a wound
Aye, sir, a drink for him
A drink would nicely do
A drink for him?
Why, let’s make it two!
Drink man, spit not
Drink this bloody tonic
Drink deep of this heady stew
Who then are you, son,
Who speaks in his defense?
And why are your hands
steady, scrapeless, without
Injury or wound or rent?
Speak, hey! You know
who asks you to
Sir, hold you please
This is my son
Our name is Lahoon
And he Ray so called
He’s one and only one
T’was I who have failed you
Thirsting, my son went to drink
From the fount there behind that shroud
From that there drank he
From that dripping sink
T’was I permitted him to
T’was I who lost my grip
And losing
Who failed the King and you
That sink is forbidden
It is meant for the King
You know this thing
I know you know this, Lahoon
And your son
Needs must know too
Sir, I know, but my son’s thirst
Was wild, intemperate
And his will, from thirst,
Broke through
I did not know I’d drop the rope
Did not know his grip would loose
Tis’ true, cries the son of Lahoon
Tis’ I who thirsted
I who drank
And I who owe the due
Tis’ I whose will was moved
Bright with flaming youth
Tis’ I who drank
From the King’s granite fount
from that rare well and sluice
and now tis’ I who see the gems
bright-blue, burning things
in the air
and around you all
they cruise
This is surely the sight of the King
spoken of in song and poem
I see beyond the shroud
Around you all are clouds
Haloes, sparks and growls
Haloes, sparks and growls
So hold you your vitriol!
The viols no longer sound…
And no beat is here,
Except the shuffle
Of worried feet on ground
Hold you all your violence but a time!
Let me wrap my father’s hands
Here, we’ll bandage them
And hide the bones from the air
The blood will stop to flow
And the sting cease to tear
Touching, yes, touching so
You drank the water, and so drinking
You did sew
The demise of our King’s good life
Your sight and your neglect are one
‘Tis true! One of you owes a due
Lifeblood, sanguine abuse
Needs must we take from you
Oh the wonder of a moving mob
The crease and fold of lives on hold
Enmeshed, woven into a deathly quilt
Beauteous, absent, and free
From guilt
But hold!
Hear you all
I am the King’s second
And while I am no king
I know of the King’s wise sight
You know you all of my well meaning
And I trust you trust me too
That I mean to do what’s right
We do! shout they
We do; we know; we see!
And I say here of this man and son
The man has paid a due
For his stupid laxity and his failure
to do what he ought to do
See here, a finger, torn raw red from the bone
And here, a second
These hold power
These are true – the long one, and its partner
Blood drained and turning blue
Here one, here two
And a ring
Here, Man
Here take your simple ring!
From this flesh now rent from you
The fingers your son will keep
Here, Ray Lahoon, is one
Here, Ray Lahoon, are two
You say you owe the due
The due is death!
This much is true
And what method then?
Listen, I will judge
And make the most of him
For the mass of you
The King So Felled
Long live the song
Long live the choir that does here circled sing
Long live bright blue blood
Long live the firstwrought king
Right-o, long live the bone and iron
And chants and fired whims
Livelong the day-o day-o
Work away to lume the tower’s bricks with hymns
The bright night so cast we out on wings
of bright-shod putrescent captivations
and shadows sent on drinks that spin
bottles upon bottles
upon bottles upon shivs
like teeth
like teeth that grin
devouring he their Bone-man King
and I his righthand
and I the next
have come
unwound
Yes I
have come
unhinged
See we say that the songs must be sung
See we say that the singing must be done
For songs are a power
And chants are a right
that might makes
Sing loud, for storms shake
the tower outside these hoary halls
the threat of the hour
eludes all but one
and I
am the choice
of none but my own
for I
have made this circle
hum
and turn
with a snap
and a yearn
A ritual spinning
Wheels of bone, sinew
And iron two
Words are
Cylinders firing
Songs are wheels
That spin
Truths are
cannons firing
Lies are ropes
That swing
Look how he goes!
There lower than my
booted feet
the hanging king
A toothless
headless
thing
Once made
Unmade
For tis’ I
who killed the king
But those below
Blind by the positioning
Do not see him
For what he is
As dead as stone
And just as hard
And dumb and mute and thin
Long live our Lord the king!
Who steers our ship of state
‘gainst shores of frightened gates:
night, nature
and fear
- steer straight!
These songs they sing
They ate now spit
Regurgitatum
A dumb
loud fit
Oh no don’t stop! Oh no don’t quit
Verse again for us!
Sing again – do sing!
Slide bow, pluck string!
Sing again – hey, sing!
Son, you, your father
Stands at his ageless post
Low’ring the Tower’s lord
Once, heave, twice, heave
Down the glass throne slow goes
And you, hold your flute and pipe
And you, you must needs blow!
So blow, son, blow
As your father heaves
And bid the king to go
Once, twice, all through
Five times
Blow your pipe
A symbol
Of the taste
The touch
and all
those bring
A symbol
of this dumb show
Look none of ye’ upon the knives
In the air, those words of shame
Historic, once cut
Twice made
The stitches born
Of the blade
A secret
No shame
A king
Is just a name
His followers
Are but the same!
Inverted
And so turned
They make the king
And give him his powers’
flame
Grudge not he
You List’ners
That cracked man who spins the wheel
Once round it goes
And then again
Slowly to reveal
The chamber’d throne of the
Bony King, descending he –
Headless, oh so slow driven
Down from paneled heights
Toward the awestruck crowd
Once the wheel turns
Twice the wheel goes round
Slowly now you father there
Helped there by his fluting son
And twist now – the strings
Blow hoh
And snap now – the flutes
Oh blow, son! Blow!
And turn now – the drums
Blow oh
So goes the throne
Suspended
Felled
Smashed to the ground
The gin with blood does mix
And bones mix so with stony dust
The choir’s circle
In quarters splits
Shadows fall across the hall
And all are now bowing
Monsters all, across the hall
And, supine, they crawl within
Licking they the
Blood and broken glass
And bone
The remnants of the king
Ageless they
And monstrous so
Surrender
To my whims
The king is dead!
A-hoo the day-o hoo.
Long live the firstwrought king!
The Harlequin King Descends upon the Timeless Waltz, Enthroned He upon a Seat of Sullied Gin
Look there, my Lord!
Below the paneled glass
Look there, Lord mine!
to the tower’s floor
Within the round
A dancing crowd
Starved they all for
Solid ground
Hungry they
For words sent down
It’s in their eyes!
They whirl and pound
The floor
They whirl and turn
Around
Up and down
Ahoo
Up and down
Ah one
Ah two
And who, ask you, makes the one two sound?
Why, your musicians make the sound!
Of horsehair string on bridesmaid’s skin
Abrush, ablush, abound! Up down!
Ahh, sweet deathly succor: sin
The sound of slipping down
Sibboleth! Sibboleth! Sound!
Ah one
Ah one
Ah two
Ahoo
The Waltz goes round and round
all while
We wage a quiet, consistent war
‘gainst the dead bull down
‘gainst that nightmare darkish dark
of the world
and that one
once so solemn
once so goddamned proud
Whore nature
hides behind those dusky cloud
and the gods
transmuted
Imperial
have all been long-since drowned
till men
no more
are made
and souls
no longer
pound
neither hungry
neither proud
nor are they thirsty
nor are they loud
And we surrogates
Stand to gain
The world
In a coin trick
The sweet, virgin Earth
In a coin’s spinning
Plow
A flip
I’ve won a sow!
A turn
I own
you now
You there –
You girls there who stand
Aloof, on guard, on hand!
(they are living proof)
Are we men not proud?
Oh we are proud
And we sing
And we carouse
For the Harlequin King
and his Nameless Spouse
Do you men!
We men do!
Oh how we are
loud
when called to be
Oh how we are
Proud
when given means
In this our Tower
so well civilized
called the Bright Shroud
We live
To die
And love
To lie
With maidens
And gaze into their eyes
And our women they
Are silent
Silent
Little moos
They dance below
Dancing
is all they love to do
Ah hah hah hah
Ahoo
Ah one
Ah one
Ah two
See them there down below!
A turning wheel
Of waltzing appeals
Each hungry for their
soul’s first meal
Tis’ men and women
Not more than clowns
Tis’ a mass of flesh
Each one
Drummed down
Ah one two three
One two three
one
Shall we descend
Beloved King
Favored son
Of the Firstwrought one
Harvest of the sun’s
Wide drum?
You King of Blue!
I say we may
What say you? Come!
You there! Dressed
in bright colors all
to cheer your favorites on
you, guardsman, you
guardsman’s son:
prepare for us the way
your king and his most
beloved one
The Protector, the Proctor, the Doctor
Yes, truly I am chosen one
Of the Firstwrought’s
Firstborn son
And yeah, I say unto you
you guardsmen each of you
Dressed I in my starbright blue
My garb of holy rule
I say this:
There are no clues
Nor truths
Unless one pays
One’s dues
Have you?
You have!
Well good.
Thank you.
And we, kingly King,
Have you heard?
We now own the booth
That prints the bills
Controls the tills
And stomps
Forsooth?!
Trust not that one out there
That rebellious son
Awash with cares!
He knows not what he does
And thinks he knows
What we do
Woodsmoke? Swirls?
Would you battle
The hand the holds you
Cradled
In sweet dumb truth?
Please
Say it ain’t so
Oh no
Rebel Bone,
your name floats on the wind
And all you who are his:
Burn not your
Bones
Burn neither your
Homes
For never were they yours
Wet not your
Eyes
Please do not
Cry
For you never were you yours
Citizens, you are! Citizens,
so owned
in the landscape
of the Tower’s gloam
Oh yeah
One
One ah one ah two
Three a one a two
Ahoo
Sit here, Sirrah
Sit in your chariot
Built from drunken nights
Hewn by the stormy hands
Of our foremost shipwrights
This shall be a ship that sinks
To the earth
Glorious
Give girth, hey you there!
Make way
Your Harlequin King
descends to revel
Yea’ he descends to play
Enmeshed the blind king descends
Levers held by unseen hands
On a throne made, a cradle of bottled gin
Slides he down upon the Waltz
Dressed now like a harlequin
Headless
And lacking skin
Make way for the King
The Harlequin!
The King!
Set bows to string
and sweet silly girls to sing!
Long live the Blind Dumb King!
Ahoo
Ah one
Ah one ah two
You there. All you down below!
Repeat along with me:
Long live the Blind Dumb King!
The Happy Harlequin!
Long live the
Blind Dumb King!
The Guardsman and His Lord
A scream
from the earth below!
A shudder
A groan
A blow
A scream sounds
from the earth below!
Redounds
Collects
Rebounds
From the earth
so far below!
Tis’ not the wind, Sirrah
Nor neither tis’ the snow
Nor tis’ the Sorcerer King
For he dares no such show
Of sound
His light
And soft whisper
form his preferred show
The clown
No, he has not returned
since you did bade him go
Worry you not?
For I
I worry so
Hark, Lord
Hear you that sound
of feet on ground
and eyes hard scored
of drums that beat
and howls that ford
the dark, starless hours
toward hard, starbright shores?
No?
You must need use
Your second sight
To see those eyes hard scored
Too must you seek
The second sounds
To hear this hard wind blow
I do
I do and so
Reflect upon the past
You know
I too
Helped sew
And so I too
well know
All here upon the ground
All here upon your ground
So hard won
From dusk till sun
Returns again
Your spacious ground that is my
and is too my family’s home
Blind Lord, suppose
I see you hear
Blind Lord
Stand ye’
and reappear
from dinner’s
sluggish
repose
Drip not
Here
Use this
Blow your own
damned nose
See you not this smoke
And smoky circle
This circle and line
Abroad there beyond
This our table
This our wine
There beyond
The trees’ own
line
The smoke is dark
The smoke is fine!
The smoke climbs
and swirls! And climbs!
Beyond boughs
Tis’ a plume of war
A single shape
A shepherd whore
Splits she like a plow
And opens the sky like a
festered sore
Deaf Lord
You see
Deaf Lord
Come ye’
with me
Still you sit
Still he sits
And will not come with me
Hear you not the drums?
Oh silent drums! Drums I hear
Drumming back
That dead one down
Slain
Sacrificial
Made
Obsolete
That cowan reveler
Caused so to frown
Once strong
Sickly
Once tall
cut down
Could it be
the cut
unwound?
Thou mute
Speak ye’
To my mind’s right ear
Ahh yes
I see
You shall not go
And so you do
permit me
Ah yes
Hear I
Ah right
I hear
You shall sit
And sitting sigh
Reminiscent
Though I know not why
Well snap out
Of your mute tired side
And be alert for but a moment
Pray I need not shout!
Pray now, look alive!
Now listen
thou with me:
What voice sings through
This pale vale of skin
and in so doing
dares to renew?
A touch
a stone
a symbol
could then become
the newest truth?
And I know
How you feel
Of truths
How you stole
and strove
‘gainst brutes
To have
The privilege
Of thy own fine truths
To call your own
Built
Into
This castle’s
stones
Cut
Through
Your own
Flesh
And bones
Torn from
Your daughter’s
own
A body so soft
so hard overthrown
So
stand and unfold yourself,
Sirrah!
Elsewhere
Outside your land
Stands a Guardsman
And guarding
Holds he up his righteous hand
He is your guardian!
Righteous he, he stands
And holds both hands
The Guardsman
Is he
His echo
I am
We stand
And do defend
I stand
At your right hand
Upon me
You do depend
Raise I my hands
Place I mine
Upon my Governor
Upon my Lord
Upon my land
My land
Tis
Too
My land
But hush now
Shall I
Before my speech
Might thou offend
Tis’ my land in spirit
Tis’ your land
in deed
and in fact
In hand
Ahh, he
The guardian
holds his vows
And sows and plows
His sword
Into the worldly sand
The sand is an hour
And an hour
Incomprehensible
He does not understand
One doth turn to two
And two do turn to ten
An hour sold
Becomes a man
For a guard
Is his time
And a king
Is his lands
And I
Am but a guardsman
Toward this fiery scream
Shall I descend
On me you can depend, Sirrah
On me you can depend
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