Raymond Farr

great foe: being a poem composed of lines
taken from Pynchon’s The Crying of Lot 49

In trees,                         MANIACAL, CHILDISH
krauts     in tiger.LAUGHTER         But one day
was mucho    fraudulent,         roaring arterial.
High-pitched squeals. Of dread. The director.
SMASH! Finds distinction.    Begins to vanish.
Unlucky enough to see it.          Down forever.
The terrible shapes irrevocably:    “Are we on
camera?” “Copy that jabbering.”   Systematic
his eyes for green neon.          Unvoiced at any
edge believed.   Then be coy:    “So, you’re an
actor? Have you met Infanticide?”              Say
goodnight,               terrible                nakedness.

Plan from whom early.                  By all periodic.
Reconnoitering. Is not too clear.   Bones in r&d
Fished up. Listening.                      Then the wind.
The minutes taking her. [absence in grey suits]
Up the
cliffs to phase. & Bones to travel.    “You know,
blokes, they’ve been listening.”    Cut to scene:
“My heart isn’t in it on that   XKE w    h    i   l     e
temporarily insane.”                Dim hope.  Floral
embellishment.      Out of some such labyrinth.
Died everyone dumbly.  “I doubt it got written
down.”                                  Day & night, plunging,
enfilading fire!                         Trees to build rafts!
Till she reached                       r          o     ck            y
b   ea       c          h.           Which indeed they were.

“I hear laughing.” Alarmed. Retired. Got dress-
ed and went out looking.                    His suit out.
Through the water mark.     What back his head
to do the Buddhist. Whom soon postwar. Make
the farewell flick.            He found it impossible.
[Away present] jolted out of jumping the stack
into insistent

                                banging at the door.

Most of the letters / columns headed:  “pro” &
“con.”     Reasons.      Absence of some trigger.
Suicides into coat pocket.     Ss & Os. Alternate
songs by The Paranoids.     Eight memories un-
looping progressively. Strange map. To go see.
The play itself.                  Turned his head, mutt-

           ering, “Possession.”

Songs by The Para-
noids.                      The play.    Till he comes of age.
Seek. & then finessing.               Enormous cannon.
Native.            The costumes gorgeous.              17th
Century. And deep.                         Of kissing every.
Intention letting him live so long.      Their rising.
Coils & clouds. Taking her.           [All rigidity] like
mythical fluid. The minutes rolling. Cut to scene:
Dead. Black.
Fugue of guitars.                               Till she reached.
Which                    in fact                          she repeated.

Raymond Farr attended Florida State University. He now lives in Ocala, FL.His work appears mostly recently in or at 88: A Journal of Contemporary American Poetry & Poetics, hutt, Xstream, 580Split, Sidebrow, & Aught.

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