A room walled-in by books where the hours withdraw.
At the foot of an unmade bed a bird of paradise.
whistles past hacked-down fields of corn,
heading towards a boy who whittles
an effigy of himself. We go on sleeping
through sirens and crimson strobes
fire in that square floodlit by crimson
gels left onstage a floating red silk
Hard to imagine getting
anywhere near another semi-
nude encounter down this concrete
slab of interstate, the two of us
She took the spareribs out of the oven
and set them steaming on a plate
before leaving her apartment.
During One of Mahler's Endless Adagios
The crinkled crackling