In discord this incipience, disregard.
You are unhappy with the slant of the windows.
You eat an egg for breakfast, and are ungrateful.

How do they get so close to the window,
a tree in figment, arithmetic moon?
Summer broke you, winter builds you—

Freud liked to collapse distinctions:
masochism is the continuation
of sadism (“nothing but”), in which

Vienna revolts outside; in,
an addict is bent
over everything ever written on dreams

On the mantle the straw hat
of her lover's father
sat with a bullet hole

We prefer to call it Le Système D,
the labyrinth of our permanent exile,
the magic houses and identity cards:

Professor Felicity Harmonia
Taught the seminar in High Fidelity:
“The problem with Stereo … ” I can recall

Nakedness isn’t guilty,
But it’s never unaware. At night
The white blossoms go on

The mosquitoes love it. So do the children who pull on their
   mothers’ skins
to indicate that there’s a naked man outside. So there will

But this is not the field the soldiers took with so few losses.
   Prophets never stop
beside the well sprung from the garden hose. A snake has