That the magicians left
is a rain-soaked late December morning
in a glut of jaundiced checkmates . . .
Your late night posturing
has opened a cabinet of Caligari moments
flooding a willingness
to split the session for odysseyites
miming on a gessoed stage . . .
The world will begin again
and again
with contemplatives appending
for appending's sake
while you, delightfully costumed,
will be seen through the half-inch
of a window left open
by one of your entourage . . .
moving seductively to Mahler's Fifth . . .
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| Antonio Palmerini |