GENESIS OF THE FLYING HEAD

(a show in verse)

X


It rises up like a head,
the lopped off head of a vagrant.
It utters words from the beyond
once, twice, and for the third time:
I AM THE FLYING HEAD!
The all-seeing flying Baroque
hangs above the city square’s horde.
Blood clots drip in the air, the torn cut
casts a deep and heavy shadow:
I AM THE FLYING HEAD!
An invisible ax has entered the city,
headless bodies are thrown from the scaffold,
gawkers have drunken their fill of cheap blood,
and will scrape off the rusty smudge from the forehead
A GHOST THE FLYING HEAD!
Are you devouring TV soaps?
You gaze at dragons behind the glass!
The wrecking ball from Fellini’s Orchestra*
has come to life and breaks through your wall—
I AM THE FLYING HEAD!
Remember, you can’t hide anywhere!
The square is coming to the hiding places, the square!
The feast rinses the dark cobblestones
and moves to the heavens of the Renaissance
A MASK—THE FLYING HEAD
I AM THE FLYING HEAD
I AM THE HE AD FLY
ING HE AD I
INGHEA I AM
AYO AY O

GENESIS OF THE FLYING HEAD. X.