after Loy



i
in pound psalt

aspersions

as pert

as

locutions—
a balm for the faux prince

confused for

for cannon fodder

with a dauphin daft

as can be had,
greasing an Occitan

flute of meth au

gratin,

flagellum off

curdled champagne—
he sees among the orgiastic

Rorschachs of brass an

ampersand in un-

common continuum,

labeled libelous bile



ii
fallen headlong into crater—

yeasty chaser of chancre—

under the watchful eye

of that traitorous

Cyclops, moon:
tells you which song,

nearing nadir, to

ring unto the loin-slung

day—making the caulked

rock of red Equator a
season in yellow—

a slow drawl on elbow,

withholding

of candlewick for the en-

flame of tonsil—
hold tight, Night:

your spates are purloined,

gossamer gone with talcum to

copulate in the cupola

of a nucleotide



iii
due fault for such trellis! led up

flights of chalk-

y scaffold on-

ly to meander

the lattice-patter of a slumberer
—a milk-moustache

of thrush

in the piss-venetian air

of morning,

frosting your matted hair …
reaching for mnemonic somn-

ambulance—reach for your-

self in reek of sleep-

lessness—an Onanist

has firsts and laughs last
…then again, coffee for

your cream; a seam

in the least seemly

of places—must mean we

were allover meant to be seen



iv
make me a doorjamb

in the puerile gatefolds

of Sodom, back arched un-

toward Bethlehem, in

slouch of pasture—
you have a hambone,

I, the ass’s jaw,

and our fricatives

and glottal stops

make plosive the logorrhetic …
lean here under the key-

stone Apathy

while marauders nod

to the humorless breeze

moving between the Sphinx’ haunches
…you and the doorway and

mystery: one aperture

in the quasi-rapture of

tonight that hath so far

more than pockets, mouths



v
returned to the scene splenetic,

frenzied in its orgy of

still lifes—stunt a common

pose, contrapuntal

to the sensual:
orange rinds in rounds—

milk’s pelt; days

glow in the shade

of remembered half-grips

or a chokehold
over the nine-to-five grope

of frigates dumb for a pier

—you’ve yet a twilit eye-

lid, cancelling the re-

calcitrance of humors /
spread now / the phalanx

of your flank’s defense—there

will be no recompense:

the sordid tooth, brush burn, tongue

forked, entendre doubly sore



vi
turned to muted canopies of brick—

(your collar, higher …)

to cellars of shtick—

to the liquorish wrought lines of stencil

the eye twines down …
you’ve a knack for inter-

continental drift—

fleet way of referencing the sartorial

(with some cheek—)

though the belt slits well still at each cinch …
roll us under the lush

light of irradiant fractal,

of cut glass, cutlass

at arm’s length

from this barstool …
dinner now is a minnow of heaven,

a half-hour at matins,

your hand in my mitten …

just as the barkeep sweeps

the dregs of us into taxis



vii
all mango martinis

find the codified esophagi

of night-streets

cobbled—they are clotted

in our most pasteurized vices …
O that Endymion would

shift a hip, let a gasp

pass the

inebriated nimbus of

his blanched shaft—
the tides laugh,

older than prostitution,

given over to

fruition, walking all

cads on the leashes Mab’s—