uprooted from antiquity,
it dwells in possibility
dreaming of a vanity
it will not know –

its crowdedness unmeshing
requires scythes for threshing
to keep it from enmeshing
Corsican sheep.

She is on the pill. My sperm have built
a monastery inside of her.
They illuminate manuscripts all day.

The new coffee maker uses bean pods.
Complicated machinery to jolt
my eyes with butterscotch sunrise flavor,
preparing me for a day at the house
of opera, watching them belt arias.
I use tiny binoculars until I
head back to the motel, take off my jewels,
wipe down the bathtub with disinfectant,

Desire between my legs –
A cello
Or is it?

A stick in my hand –
A bow
Or is it?

Two roads diverged, at least I mean
I think I had two options on that day
but honestly, I really can’t remember, having seen
so many veer a bit north, but lean
just enough to go another way;