Anonymous captive of the pensive habit,
drowsy in my spool of soda,
dank husk of neglected choruses,
I hear the footsteps of the postman
a thousand miles away: He speaks
of trifles, and is often, by his own admission,
unemployed. I am spying on his bloodstream

as a can of darkness pours over my head.
I’m hostile in baggy trousers.
O minuscule thermometer, naked bulb of pain.
I suffocate in your embrace.
Upheaval of chaste embroidery,
I fear your insignificance
and this reminder of what’s to come.

Pangs and tears, I tend, I spoon,
and tears tend to make me lose interest.
My landlady, with toothpicks in tune,
sweeps this alarming leaf into her gutter,
her waist crumbling in large blocks,
which a hired truck will collect later.
What further news from the world? Winking,

hissing, creaking, you, grimace, you, sheave
of scissoring cadenzas. I must wake now
into masquerade and particle, act out
my fluffy monologue behind the parrot green
tapestry, lisp some sparkling caprice:
It is Carnival again in the world, and I must try
to harmonize with its proud or shabby downfall.