In gyres fluttering,
In the falcon by falconers of empty things,
Shaken from the centre that lay itself,
From all the anarchy hitherto broken, from the worlds, tides, ceremonies,
Which too empty I was thinking to sit my innocence,
Constant to me now anarchy not yet broken, constant to me that my best,
That the best of the conviction I sit for arises in the worst,
Here by myself away from the revelation of the hand,
letting fall and drawn back here by comings inhuman,
No longer veritable, (for in these medleyed words I can drool as I would not call elsewhere,)
Grinding upon me the image that does not go itself, yet used to be all the Spiritus Mundi,
Striving to make no sights to­day but those of gasping waste,
Scouring them along that ever­hooded desert,
Threatening hence sands of tragic­gestured shape,
Body this dark colored head in my sunken man,
I blow for all who need or have needed clear gaze,
To lay the shadows of my birds and darkness,
To wonder the centuries of sleep.

An Oulipian Chimera
by Esther Greenleaf Murer, 2014

Remixed works:
Calamus (In paths untrodden) by Walt Whitman
The Second Coming by W B Yeats (Nouns)
Channel Firing by Thomas Hardy  (Verbs)
The Idea of Order at Key West by Wallace Stevens (Adjectives)