I WALK THE LINE

See...

In walking the line, like a B/Chatwin o.n.o., I thump

'Ohio-shaped farmland' on Cecil Fender Rhodes, with

emotional MiniMoog of Borges alterations.

(A soundartworking sacred cow.) Now. Mercator.

Mercator now. Wow across the rooftops, to sources of a

grey Nile; or the Pongo Congo, gone too long-o, oh

Robert Longo. Line is caucasian; as Brecht; a folded flat

erstwhile circ, ca. 1963. It rings. It ringfences, as defences.

Its plutonium claw, platonic and bionic, shoots out to

601, 144'

overkill

almost thereabouts