Say Goodbye, Catullus, To The Shores of Asia Minor
I bring down the ROMAN
EMPIRE!
I bring you down where I want to go
I bring you to cold dungeons
where the dead can’t complain
In Rome you are no one
without a name
I bring you down where I want to go
I bring you to cold dungeons
where the dead can’t complain
In Rome you are no one
without a name
*
WE KNOW THIS, you and
I, from the poet Martial, who mediated the dirty
Work of Catallus, MARTIAL who married LATIN to Twombly, Twombly
(7) Your god who rebuilt pink ponds of antiquity in my backyard and in
The irregular river of the third declension where Twombly turned horror
Into horrors and sent Achilles into labor, labors. I wish I knew your grammar
I wish I knew your name.
The GUILLOTINE holds you together, your clavicle, your tongue—
The legs of language walk right to left, collecting memories and TAXES
From parts of the empire that paint you and ME into us and THEM. We are down
In the dungeons fucking around a sentence and the execution
of an ellipse. (14) We are in the backyard, full of long breaths, painting each other purple
Work of Catallus, MARTIAL who married LATIN to Twombly, Twombly
(7) Your god who rebuilt pink ponds of antiquity in my backyard and in
The irregular river of the third declension where Twombly turned horror
Into horrors and sent Achilles into labor, labors. I wish I knew your grammar
I wish I knew your name.
The GUILLOTINE holds you together, your clavicle, your tongue—
The legs of language walk right to left, collecting memories and TAXES
From parts of the empire that paint you and ME into us and THEM. We are down
In the dungeons fucking around a sentence and the execution
of an ellipse. (14) We are in the backyard, full of long breaths, painting each other purple
