Long moments of silence that oddly resembled
the tablecloth, guests in a
kinship of guests.

Sitting on a park bench, he knows what’s silly,
music and the unexplainable riffs,

I wane to imitate their moral blister; I want to be full of
the pus of inaction. Safe friends, patterning themselves

Always above, on a stair, in a tower,
the diamond-eyed magician treds the air,
and dabbles in the witchcraft of perfection,