to elapse the same three things in
succession; quick, undaunted
by time flowing fast & untethered
having met this feeling two
days before. & it has been
nights of your head underwater
asking questions, questions
i have too many questions
all convoluted & tightened
around necks & wrists
everyone leaves.
after midnight it is
the one sure thing.
while talking to you in the library,
on the cushions, gallantly ignoring
the 'talk-free zones' & imperial men.
your idiot's cap slipping back & forth
((i hate those hats. they are vile.))
this makes a last memory. so divine
only by the expertise of abandon, but
you must leave before five, it is
another sure thing; having an
etherised celebration to omit
from this calender of lies
idle thoughts of caligula & nero
((my favourite emperors of the augustans))
leads to talk of your favourite
dictator. finding there is less
to fear for, less pressure to be had
in frozen fingertips. you think it is
strange that my shoes have been
stapled together, & grateful for
this approach, parting ways is
made the clumsiest scene.
with my lines from shakespeare at hand,
((some in french for unknown reasons))
this violent forcing of conversation
& excuses & opinionated phrases
"oh, that chair is hideous"
"i know. i find myself agreeing."
& "i have been to that museum; you
must go. it is contemporary, made up for
only by the fact that it is free."
& reprisals & reversals & an annotated cry
from the mouth of a distant corner
but now, it is almost five! oh
do say it is so! needing to be
left alone with my best vices
& what remains of this mesh
of time & times to forget,
needing to know now that
there is something yet
so exits are made, prepared
with the science of a perfect cake,
& in the grey, ghostly lights i wait
for the purpose of my exclamation
to alight. it never does. he never does.
so i take to fools who sweep the city streets