Ask not reason, Klytaemnestra, or probe
your ice-pick through those multiplying
diptych grams. Ablutions rain down
worthy patronness, the saint
between cleric and layman gesturing
prosperity and war. Black lines
border yellow, red and the white
poofy quiff tangles in a down-heaving
brand. Shave me clean as an ice-
pick, pink soft fasten bulbous. Splooge
mascara no good for eyes um.
Caractacus shook off his chains temple
trembling in wooden blocks – lintel
pillars architrave and pediment – a sauce
of pureed white beans garlic
pepper salt staining blue cobalt plate.
A stiff January wind whips the page from the
reader’s hand, blurs over the
microphones. I do not speak this language
well. I cannot read this second term.
Spencer trends Dylan Andy Big Boy
tangles of Nereia’s hair not sandy
and in my mouth. A cowlick consummation
tottering over the steps and into
the bricks, brought them all
to what they assumed were their feet.
Vagueness, said Dr. R––––, is the upright man’s answer
to the arrows and slings of outraged
specificity. Pull me down another Meister-
brau. Pull out before you do it.