Tuckford Bunny Press
© 2009-2019 William Frank | Tuckford Bunny Press |  Selden, NY  |  Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication or website may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
The   Morphine   Fawn   is   a   book   that   deftly   interweaves   a   variety   of   traditional   forms   with   free narratives   that   include   Account   Ledgers,   Patent   Applications,   Rituals   and   Personal   Letters   to depict   the   boundless   comedy,   cruelty,   excess   and   sorrow   of   Life   in   Festival.   Set   during   the Anthesteria ,   a   celebration   of   the   opening   of   the   wine   casks   and   the   return   of   the   Dead,   each love poem is a visitation sure to both evoke and enthrall. Sample poems follow…                                                                                                                  a The Plagues I   was   only   a   featherer,   the   brown   birds,   when   of   a   number   I   was   also   called   to   visit the   plagues   to   the   Booking   towns.      And   when   ten   of   us   were   brought   to   Him,   I   hid behind   them   in   the   door;      but   how   did   I   offer   my   humility?      He   said   to   us,   “You   shall make   caries”;      “You   shall   cause   brittleness”;      “You   shall   confuse”;   “You   shall   take   the skin”… There was   a   row   to   Him,   of   beautiful   quarterfoils.      But   how   did   I   stand   up?      He said   to   me,   “You   shall   affect   the   heart.     And   two   and   three   shall   go   together,   even   five and   six,   but   not you.”        And   it was   then   reasoned   among   them   that   I   should   go   first.      I did put out from a soft hill, with everything behind me. I   trust   upon   You,   even   to   violence.      But   what   do   I   have   now   at   the   gate,   what   voice have   I,   that   I   should   not   take   even   one,   while   nine   other   vengeances,   who   are   also kind men, wait without the town and starve? A Pot of Glue                   If far too long you've waited on your circus pay a toft manqué the right bus line from Water to Wine and all undo both old and new when love is not the spoon or pot remember instead together in bed our neat Grace of paper and paste. No One Comes to Vjolscher and Here They Come The Bombing Survey written and the beautiful Spring imminent, I went to the Vjolscher Museum of the Mirror before they boxed at last the Algus Fright Collection and all the others once that returned a reflection but fell in love and do not work anymore. No one can prepare to forget and that is why I went. The Palace Mice The Mice are in my pocket, soot and stubbles, too. I am going to the Palace that you had wanted to. With fowls on every awning and stoats in the street, I am the chaud-medley of a thousand rounds of squeak. There's a pall in the market, talk in the launderette, the Mayor makes provision, the Tusks are taking bets and business bustles for poisoners and cats where any sensible woman keeps a gun under her hat and maybe we're a vermin or just a casual guest that makes a social visit to your everyday unrest for Endeavor is a crown sparkling in the sun, Love shall wear it shining and Mice shall wear it dun among the magnates, the Asters and the guttersnipes under the baseboards and in through the pipes, amok in the storeroom and up to the Gates to ask a simple question at a Mouse’s rates: Who has the King's bubo to make the Palace pay? Like nephews and nightshade, we're kindly run away when thimbles of Bil-o cheese are lowered from the wall. We dreamed the whole world with no other arsenal. The Sea of Everyplace Else                                                                                  I know the empire will end, but today, lying abed I am perfectly convinced it will not be during my life. I am not indifferent to death. I am expected. My slaves wave their arms to speak, I am unfaithful to my wife. Wishfulness is a vice against God; my poets wish. All in this world is in abundance, joy and pain. When will the store of these vanish? Why should I care of them again? The transport on perfume, the Merveilleuses, the epimethean gardens of the lotos, the public mutilations and the fastuous jewelry, where to sleep, what dearth possess to sharpen on innocence my free desire? If I have nothing to which I am pious, for the mere fables, I’ll fall in with tempters: You’re different from others but not from us. Every departure needs a fortuneteller who hates himself until he’s a perfect lover. I am not proud. I am not kind. I have enough money to buy the death for any in the crowd: The equilibrist who walks the gaps between the cathedrals, the Ice and the bars. Without the town underneath, he'd collapse on the cathouse stairs. As far from him in every way, in all the quiet, chthonic places we could meet after the venationes , pale Lucullo, like a stray brushes the lions beneath the street. The only world given, for our Apollyon, is between the Baths and rose hotels; even if He could be anyone I want I’d still hear the Sea of Everyplace Else. The waters from that Sea, miles away, are brought to our fountains by the aqueducts under which I have walked at night distrait with perfect fascinations, but the consuming worst is the heart’s renewal. Detach its color, diminish its power I hear as in a shell the parts of its reversal: Begin again this self-same hour. But the bed is soft and I have paid for the girls from each race, the wine, the scents, all this, and I can have so much more. Everything I have been given, I have kept. Let the Chaldeans come and make out three bands the wind, too, as my children feast, in their brother’s house, I have my substance in the cold, virescent land and the idle hours of the Cross.

The Morphine Fawn

Buy Now Buy Now

Amazon Review

"This   is   an   astonishing   piece   of   work. In    today's    mumbling,    dumbed-down world     an     author     that     actually     has competent   command   of   the   language! Amazing...   [The   Morphine   Fawn   is   the] First    book    I    have    sampled    in    a    very long     time     that     is     worth     the     price. Bravo!" —  Peter F Walsh, Amazon Review, 5 Stars
$14.00, 119 pages
Tuckford Bunny Press
© 2009-2019 William Frank | Tuckford Bunny Press |  Selden, NY  |  Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication or website may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

The Morphine Fawn

The Morphine Fawn is a book that deftly interweaves a variety of traditional forms with free narratives that include Account Ledgers, Patent Applications, Rituals and Personal Letters to depict the boundless comedy, cruelty, excess and sorrow of Life in Festival. Set during the Anthesteria , a celebration of the opening of the wine casks and the return of the Dead, each love poem is a visitation sure to both evoke and enthrall. Sample poems follow…                                                          a A Pot of Glue                   If far too long you've waited on your circus pay a toft manqué the right bus line from Water to Wine and all undo both old and new when love is not the spoon or pot remember instead together in bed our neat Grace of paper and paste. No One Comes to Vjolscher and Here They Come The Bombing Survey written and the beautiful Spring imminent, I went to the Vjolscher Museum of the Mirror before they boxed at last the Algus Fright Collection and all the others once that returned a reflection but fell in love and do not work anymore. No one can prepare to forget and that is why I went.