“Too Many E’s in These”
The 2001 E’s Text

by

P. ‘Dre Heresy

I.  Wretched News

We feel vexed, bereft here—me, the present red letter revel’s jerked nerves emcee,
frets dejectedly
by the lectern.
These eyes weep, fetch the Kleenex.
Yes, the
news seems,
he’ll flee when the present semester ends—the welsher. Well then, bye-bye.

When he pressed the news, we were left speechless. We were perplexed—he’s never been neglected here; we felt, ‘hey, the entente’s there; he’ll never defect, he’s tethered here.’ He’s tested the rest, we’re the best.  Whether he even deserves better, we never knew. Everett
—she’s Mrs. N—
the perky, pretty
reel expert,
expressed the very
essence we feel—
she screeched, “Emergency. He left here, flew there. He’s Penn’s prey. Get help! He’s restless!” “Penn?,” we reply.  “He’s demented!  Why Penn??” We felt he’d reject the tendered berth.  Ken yen’ll be meted, ends’ll meet; he’ll envy Penn’s green, yet he’ll dwell here. We were tense, yet serene.  Nevertheless, when he recklessly reneged the Fletcher J. terms,
we beseeched,
“Never!”—
The cheek!
The nerve!
The heresy!
Me’n’L.B., clenched teethed, were peeved.  “He’ll wreck the dept.,” she tersely yelled.  Then, we went berserk, felt preempted. We were nettled, we spewed resentment. Therese de V. felt we needed revenge. He’s the enemy!  We’ll peg the legs, let’s set cement feet, we’ll geld—well, let’s heckle the feller.  We’ll get Mel—then he’ll enter the ferment.  Let’s be clever.  Heck, he deserves these jeers—when the dept. meets, he’s never reserved—even when he knew he’d be elsewhere next term.

Well, next September he’ll smell evergreen scents, trek Penn settlements—
where he’ll see deer pelts pegged by beer-belly rednecks—beefy men, they bend the knee when Steelers legends’re present; they’re the dregs, they elect Specter, prefer Veep Cheney—
Penn, where even
the preppy
men reek
brewery stench;
they’re lechers,
they feel well-heeled wenches’re prey, the men’s peckers swell when they lewdly leer the sweetly hemmed dresses, the lengthy tresses. Yet he’ll pretend Penn’s Eden, ever the jewel.  Then,
by next December,
when degrees
get severe there,
he’ll see he erred
when he deserted
the clement west,
where the verdt
secretes Jekel red—
the Fletcher J’s decreed med—
he’ll freeze when he gets dressed, regret the wet sleet, the fevers he’ll get; he’ll be feeble, never get better—he’ll be wretched, he’ll seethe, he’ll feel gypped, yet pretend he’s the Pere’s merry elf. He’ll envy Westchester’s swelter, where the nymphets dress sleeveless.

II. Letter Texts

He, the well-versed geek, the Stevens expert,
the respected, even celeb exegete,
esteems letter-centered texts,
the genre where letters per se
get stressed—they’re the key event
when these texts present themselves:

e.g., Egypt-styled systems where
revered excrement beetles represent speech,
encrypted texts where men’re preserved
express restless desert essence.

e.g., Hester Prynne’s excellently sewn letter—
her vessel, neglected by elder m.d., felt the reverend’s fever;
she knew (the creed sense) the reverend; the erect member entered her.
The elder m.d. leeched the reverend, yet never ferreted the breeder’s secret.
When vesper bells tell the reverend he’s hell-bent, he trembles;
hence the reverend’s velvet speeches.
Yet he gets exempted, he’s ever the Elect’s member.
Hester steers her needle well, her needle’s eye gently weeps—
whereby her fevered-femme, reckless sex deeds were redeemed.

e.g., E.P.’s letter theft mystery,
where three men’re tested.
The Q’s letter fleeced by lynx-eyed D-, the embezzler—
he everts, thereby secrets the letter,
where the even-tempered Prefect never sees the shelved text.
There, the letter gets seen by detect-expert D-’s eyes,
screened by green specs—
He feels keen grey cells reflect better when less sheen’s present.
The text ends when the encrypted Greek myth excerpt’s left.

e.g., Perec’s French text less the E’s,
the text’s perverse precept expressed by the stern tenet, E-lessness,
where the never present letter
represents the expelled Jews.
The exempted letters express the
mere spectres—ever elsewhere, yet ever remembered—
“them,” French style.

III. Free Hermes Letters

He pens re-verses where the center never held, where
metred feet step
extreme lengths.
He pens Escher per-verses, the hen’n’egg effect, reflected
spheres where
egrets descend,
recede, wheel,
then melt; presently
they’re perch. Where’s the merger? Where’s the vertex? Where’re the geneses?

Vext secretes gem sentences—e.g., “The tempter Serpent we knew / Gets even better”
e.g.,“ye never
knew where
these verbs’ve been.”
He sells the new style, “N-deferrence”—French germed speech,
Der Rede where
“less then meets the eye.”
These excerpts
represent the verb-meshed flesh, reselected J.C., the letter speller.
Sell these texts new, Ez, seventy pence per lb.

He types, the screen scene where the self perseveres.
Perplexed by the PC,
he prefers the
elder style Hermes.
He eschews pretense, deletes mere hype.
He feels hypertexts
resemble the repetend
sheep D.’s gene cells—
“ewe!”—they’re termless, ever present tense; they’re merely reflex-descended.

He never heeded the well-tended sheep herd’s genres—
he selected the Shepp-herd reed,
re-membered Lester B.’s tremble pet ensemble.

He drew where D. Cherry‘n‘Nette C. merged—
they Blythely blew free keys,
where the next stress swerved pell mell,
they never knew where.

Every where, Reed pledges,
Crescent Street Keds rhythm tempers the elements.
The spheres’ symmetry’s never even; they prefer three’n’seven-edged templets.

The excellent E-sextet:
H. “Sweets” E., tr
Shepp, Dewey R., ts
Tyner, p
McBee, b
Ed B., dr

Style’s needle presses deep,
even when CD’s expel LP’s,
when treble clef sheets get recycled—
he repels the reverb, respells the pre-verb—
he peels the excess, the veneer recedes,
lettered entelechy perfected, the Greek lyre renewed.

The fleet-feeted Hermes messenger, he
flew Ken Kesey’s merry hemp crew’s Bleecker Street nest,
then fleeced Creeley texts, seeded New Jersey semen teeth frenzy—
they grew beet sentences, Snyder’s newly freed Zen speech.

IV. The End

Well, den, kneel, send—the Fletcher J. cheer, flee thee well—
when the present
semester ends,
we’ll never
pester thee,
yet we’ll
never delete the hyphen between Westchester-Penn.
We’ll send
effervescent
e-letters
by the net;
he’ll Fed-Ex me
presents—precedents were Kelley’s dem, free-rhythmed ensemble CD’s.
He’ll redeem my text debt check—whereby he’ll net mere cents.

When need be, he’ll scheme recesses, emerge thence, whence he’ll wend
the western sweep,
wheedle the dept.,
mend the mess here.
He’ll enter the blessed sphere where we yet expect Beckett’s lessness’ll be redeemed.  He’ll be well met, well respected here, yet he’ll be peppered by the new fees we’ll levy.
We’ll never vent
the spleen we feel,
never shred the
ex-Fletcher’s checkered rep, even when the twerp chews cherry-red Dentyne, gets Bee Gees weekend fever, peddles Beverly heels weed, scented herb refreshments.

V. Rhythm’n’ese Sphere

He’s been very sweet, well he needn’t.
He’s felt very meek, well he needn’t.
He’s never peeked, well he needn’t.
The end’s here, the end’s here.

We’ll be gentle-bred, well we needn’t,
He’ll be well-fed, well he needn’t.
He’ll sweep the desk free, well he needn’t.
The end’s here, the end’s here.

We’ll never hedge,
here’s the edge,
we feel the wedge,
yet we’ll pledge.

We’ve seen the end, he there recedes
we better send, he’s went t’seed,
the bye-speeches, the sweet regrets,
the ‘xtreme egress, the petty frets.

He’ll be very zesty, well he needn’t.
We’ll be very testy, well we needn’t.
He’ll be sveltely dressed, well he needn’t.
The end’s here, the end’s here.

He’ll tremble when he’s here, well he needn’t.
We’ll never ever sneer, well we needn’t.
We’ll keep the sweet veneer, well we needn’t.
The end’s here, the end’s here.

The end’s here, the end’s here.

*       *       *

My belly feels empty.