I wished you awake for the bird song,
Such a sophisticated bird song at five in the morning,
Like a twelve bar blues, each chorus had a variation—

The cat’s alone
and that allows it
to invent itself

Five times the church bells break
the violet elements to gold;

No one misunderstands my satieties
Once they have had at the Caprichos
Without knowing what they are, that they are,

What can I say? I know the textile trade,
Its crafts, its business, inside and out.
Each side of the Atlantic is the same;

If you can't fuck me while I read, fuck off.

Please chortle everywhere for me
If you love S-E-X (sans E).

"The days are getting long now,"
he said.
"Short," I replied,

Before the opening of the wrought-iron gates,
The gravel walks receive in daily dawns 
Reindentation to fresh herring-bone

I’ve inherited famine.
Taste, a gluttony: my mirrored crawl.
The women of my line dwell in fractions,