by Geoffrey Detrani

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The commissioner is a bruised liver
Stitching up toxins. His she

Soothes the great statist, tottering
On the divisor of a special city.

A “works project”  in pantomime

in flowing affectation. A carousel doting
prettily: here we go again about death.

Vanish snow paints up her mouth like
February’s historical supply of ice.

Supple through its’ full spectrum dominion.

The quasi artillery feel of his organs
Bunched in their velvet peach suit

Foretells the big pornographic
Set piece to come.

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