Skull with Its Lyric Appendage Leaning on a Night Table That Should Have the Exact Temperature of a Cardinal Bird’s Nest
Despite the cleansing tides of time
the garments of the choir
reek of the sacristy.
The connoisseur of archaic cooks,
worth their weight in fish,
refuses to auction his finest specimens.
The anomalous detective continues
to research tomes of algebraic inclusion.
The temperature of the nest depends
upon diverse factors faithfully recorded
in the finely stitched sutures of severed bone.
A jet trail leaves a perfect semicolon
slowly dissolving across the bluest sky.
That night you dine alone at the Quanta Café
and meet your lover for the next five years.
Appeared in Surrealities