A trio of fishermen, nearby,noisy and beaming — luck, today, had been a tardy ladyeven for the already patient.
Downtown cafe, outside seating;the waiters, cool and briskly collectingwith starched collars, impossibly dry,tongues and aprons, so primly…
Power is a tricked out illusion,a humble-brag at best,set in palatial circumstance.
A thread pulls, to unravel a dressing, and somewhere beneath the filaments:a carnival of skin.
The dead whisper homilies,falsities,word upon word,
Satire flatters, by omission — brightens, like a winter sunrise,without feeling the frost below.
I remember the decathexisof our conversations,the fine sensual numbnesswhen I was neither human nor beast,though I was…
The crime is prettierthan it seemed.
Why do you find it so hard to look at me?