Epithalamium Lisa Jarnot Thomas Evans
May 8 2005, Bowery Poetry Club

long poem in strong visual presentation

medium length poem in multi-directional multi-color lineation

infinite poem hepcat poem cat poem

boldly where everyone has gone before

orality sans repetitions yawner

named for the days of the week and the sins of the strong

impregnate yourself

write a column you can use in the basement to strengthen the foundation

Elizabeth and I got married at City Hall.
It was like applying for Unemployment but all your friends
are there, all dressed up. Pockets of International
representatives in their national colors and attire.
It was just me and Elizabeth and Stu.
Stu was into speedballs at the time which horrified it would be safe to say horrified  Elizabeth.
She wore the most amazing brown dress I have ever seen.
She was a triangle and the sun had a lot of nerve
to backlight her terrific salt’n’pepper hair.
Finally we were called into the room,
the Wedding Chamber, I guess.
“Did you bring a ring?” the guy asked.
Yes sir, I replied, handing him the ring. “No no! he screamed,
”Put it there (pointing to a small ashtray/podium thing)
I never touch the rings!”

That was 22 years of fire

                                                think it’s a long you are song

So if I could stop talking and start getting their Epithalamium into the singing gear
I’d let it be known

oh Lisa my love and Thomas my lobe;
                        o tolling elves and perfect black dogs and okay perfect dogs
                        whether black or neigh and perfect roll in the hay tralalay
which way the way way  a water ballet
                                    present day passion play
                                                                                    a ricochet on tape delay
                                    some is not somber numb
                                                 is not number
                                                                        is is not and is so

Plot happiness against the homeland security infrastructure of anti-panties

How lovely the poem as cathedral!

And in the basement we all go down

The last row of pews is there and the lights dim on our fine partay

Singing roundelay Jarnot and Evans sing the dance of happenstance