cymbals sun horse creation hell‟s doorway certain of devils then then combatant seahorse, unicorn, whatever appears

as though naked naked yet sheltered smokescreen red clouds even a million of „em obscurant shadows for forms of amusement not everything‟s real is it? the truth of the aurora breaks anew

“Academica” (blank verse translation of Jose Marti‟s Versos Libres) I decided to revert to English blank verse as a way to ellicit the 19th century Spanish.

or something to satisfy what a critic might ask -- is it retrograde to go from free verse back to standard meter? The answer seems to suggest to me that by doing so the visual body--Marti‟s verbose emotions, how he described them in 3Dimensions.

Come, my horse, meanwhile I saddle you. None wants you to bring grace to the bullrings but to repel your sagacious impulse and learn to accept the pace of the track the lash of the whip and submissively deliver your defiant pride to sit-Come, my horse, they say that what is abreast and is certain is uncertain: molten as stanzas from the deep of my soul give birth shooting their red plumes from its pure fountain blast past the sedate surface of the earth spraying their drops in a thousand red clouds and shouldn't be sung rather formed in molds empty and sweetened superficially

revered by the pedants and plagiarists who scream out, "Go to hell!"--when through the doors of autumnal temples, a free man sees-Come, my horse, with your bright helmet for sweet herbs and flowers of scented plains, cast cinches and straps on a pious trunk where what dries under the sun is revived from the cosmetic and costumed scholar of green yesterdays full of nostalgia golden and ornately adorned Greek gems-steer for the bright light dawn hatches open race go arrogantly toward a new orb.

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