Uraniborg
︎︎︎ VG
︎ July 6, 2026
Orbits, the reeling cog
Engineering’s grandest gift
Ferdinand, navy blue socks, honoris causa
Tripped on the tram to Warwick
Merrily we took our constitutional
At the thoroughfare in Westbrook
A stage left in Exeter
Rotterdam was the last of our graces.
Upturn the cloistered vein
Pin your sleeve on the coral stair.
Follow the mint leaves
In kites you’ve strung along like erring fools
Things are more latent here than the mambo of a whole town’s worth of
hearts
It takes a buckshot to a pheasant to feel that lull
When maidens play carotid cornamuse für das volk.
Trill nails of bronce gongs
Weaving
Rhyolite scarf or marrow cocoon
Fairing
Sclera that asks: Why this?
So permanent the enneagram execution of her binokel decks
And all the thighs it twines
Through fallopian tubes of Pieridae
That we go to bed in time.
Radiant decades of coils make you a curio;
Panhandling at every dock in Catalonia
Engulfed in rawhide, crutches under your armpits
The mist rolls down a triptych curtain of promiscuity upon the men in
dredgers
Clean the ejaculate from your mercury glove.
We will row in sixes
Through the Magellan passage
Before I burst under spurning cannons, phallic envoys
All in the name of an eye compromised of pieces that once were part of
Uraniborg’s armillary spheres
To die is to look through that cold piece of clockwork and, seeing un
mirrored quasars and men in wafer-thin steps rounding a perfect vortex,
finally assume the role of a centrist.
Engineering’s grandest gift
Ferdinand, navy blue socks, honoris causa
Tripped on the tram to Warwick
Merrily we took our constitutional
At the thoroughfare in Westbrook
A stage left in Exeter
Rotterdam was the last of our graces.
Upturn the cloistered vein
Pin your sleeve on the coral stair.
Follow the mint leaves
In kites you’ve strung along like erring fools
Things are more latent here than the mambo of a whole town’s worth of
hearts
It takes a buckshot to a pheasant to feel that lull
When maidens play carotid cornamuse für das volk.
Trill nails of bronce gongs
Weaving
Rhyolite scarf or marrow cocoon
Fairing
Sclera that asks: Why this?
So permanent the enneagram execution of her binokel decks
And all the thighs it twines
Through fallopian tubes of Pieridae
That we go to bed in time.
Radiant decades of coils make you a curio;
Panhandling at every dock in Catalonia
Engulfed in rawhide, crutches under your armpits
The mist rolls down a triptych curtain of promiscuity upon the men in
dredgers
Clean the ejaculate from your mercury glove.
We will row in sixes
Through the Magellan passage
Before I burst under spurning cannons, phallic envoys
All in the name of an eye compromised of pieces that once were part of
Uraniborg’s armillary spheres
To die is to look through that cold piece of clockwork and, seeing un
mirrored quasars and men in wafer-thin steps rounding a perfect vortex,
finally assume the role of a centrist.
VG is a peddler of blarney.