Make

Here's the character
you will be dealing
with — not girthful
precisely, eats peanuts
like pain tablets.
The air outside thins
by the minutes. The
meeting convenes at the
top of the lift and, divided,
the whole thing stalls.

Do you recognize yourself yet,
my friend? A private chair
in the high-ceilinged hall.
Some hack and flood, precious
little trunks, hawks
on the prowl. You do this
anyway, footbridge be
damned. With not unfeigned
equanimity, approach
the machine and begin.

The neighbors you most
want have donned
red felt caps express
from Guatemala
your obsidian wish
is flaked to precise near
oblivian. Descending
the parking ramp
it's all about the same —
intaglio shadow mountains
strange book with no
identifying number.

Your fascination with
the absurd provokes
ridicule, from me
at least. Your 'understanding'
merely shows you're
weak like a fox. My favorite
king crumbles cheese
crackers on his silk
cravat, my queen
brushes her nails on
moonlit saturdays.

Would a stenographer ease
your obvious distrust of
'creative' writing?
I was wearing a powdered
wig when I learned cursive,
Your Grace, beg pardon.
"It could if it hadn't.
A rhombus table, large,
with a head | old cushy
rolly chairs | I was good
this week | lots of
tunes on my mind —
ascendant note | clear
against the horizon |
heroic C (choleric?)"

Oil paint you dabbed
and dazzled your passage
to the East with.
He dreamt at night
of a rabbit-sized cat.
The heart of the matter's
matter cannot be
decided here. I hear
that you need to be
heard. I can mean
one thing, like the
author's intention, if
you like — trance
and transcripts replicate
the beating experience
you have just spent
reading what you

just read, obliged
not one line more.
With tin snips and
light beer cans
my thane made
me a sharp little
milling machine.
Swipe your card now.
I made you some whiskey
eggs — each intact
sun the shape of
a riveting conversation
the clouded eye of the
seer, the whites
on the glazed plate.