In Sabbath quiet, a street
of closed warehouses and wholesale silence,
Adam Misery, while the cop frisks him

lifts with both hands his lip and
drooping mustache to reveal
horse-teeth for inspection.

                                          Nothing
is new to him and he is not afraid.
This is a world. As the artist

extends his world with
one gratuitous flourish—a stroke of white or
a run on the clarinet above the

bass tones of the orchestra—so he
ornaments his with
fresh contempt.