{a cubic mile is sufficient to contain one hundred billion souls, provided they are packed tightly, “like anchovies”}
by SJ Fowler

The greatest library since the Serapeum is now co-funded by Scope
Deaf to the the firmament.
I’m derobing, don’t rush me warders! Fuck off.

Where now limps the spastic siren, was once ceiling high with tomes
written on the art of flower arranging, dog training & economics,
& Russian mythology. They were piled to the lights.

There were sober standards, once
degeneration of skull via the activities of the genitals.
Wood asleep was wood sleeping.

Must have been a wonderful place.
Perhaps why I linger around the toilets,
why I rush to meet those who have Ripped the wire.

And who may have held them, who may have ordered for research.
Ack, tisthough itwer The Last Christ Judgement;
that parsimony sitting on a rainbow with the Oorb at his feet,

how his flanks are cummed by angels carrying the instruments of his passion,
the apostles vanguarding in the dank,
below Christ the Virgin & St John intercede in tussle.

A devil, I am laying claim to this seated Land.
I am the Just at left,
Hell below.

A lenient illustration from Tengler “Der neŁ Layenspiegel..................”
has a big fat Forked Penis,
& we’ve all found the works, about, in the dives.

All appreciate! I’m still waiting down here,
for the books that harmed millions and delighted just a few.

I am party to a third party, one third of a private library,
some two thousand books, uncovered in a salt mine.
Impossible to say how many he actually read.

The perverse obverse now takes place,
in the lines of Aristeas or Aulus Gellius.
Finally far too sophisticated in its humour.

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