I’ll be your Louisiana, you’ll be my Mississippi.
You’ll be my Henri Michaux, & I your
— Star says No.
Stars with issues are streaking all
over this nightshade…And I have hooligan
factions inside my chess. Hear them
squabbling: then they change sides.
Sorry, this mirror reflects only
the colors of the morning.
I led my horses through the prism of oil.
You’re an idiot if you think
the text can’t do the job… I heard a small sound
just now! Is it — my destiny? No,
just a pile of bricks
stumbled in the corner. And all I’d asked for was:
except me. But your refusal was
exclusive. A void grey broadside
with a smattering of asterisks. And even
after your death
the only blue I was allowed was the skin
of my flip flops…
Why didn’t I fight for you in that museum?
You had only the width of a butterfly to protect you.