or crutch; the one to straighten,
the other to keep the weight on.
So he sings, who would splutter
out some crud on weather, but
instead another plinth resounds.
My mind is unmadeupable.
Pistol-whip the butler. Pluck
his eyes with a decorative spoon.
Prepare the necessary length
and tuck behind the ear like so;
the slightest tug and whoops!
we’re back in marketing –
you scour demographics on the web
while I prepare the pitch in Vulcan.
It’s a funny thing about a text:
the deeper you get inside
its sheath, the emptier it seems.
Commentary is everything –
like a novel read in footnotes
or a technical manual in Japanese
for the newly blind.