Style: the Sibyl’s only available expression.
Reversible epigrams filched as seasonal must
from the fathers. You think assassination
a pretext for kindness. Love in the time of
your own good
collar her bag of ferrets,
the hide, not the fathoms.
In blau sein, krill spawns iridescent.
Gossip flowers through little devils;
soft-spiked machines a-whorl
and thousand-eye confetti.
She had a nasty way with words. She had
the likeness of words, not the whimsy.
A period woman, the type of which tested
modernism. Pointillist strokes
out-of-hand, the vicious technologies of hay.
Specious  regrets .
Clay pigeon exhibit
in Europe’s far west woods.
A mirror is a mirror is an over-hung jar
of tender collections. I once paid for this
tenantry. Too. Sharp-fashioned refractions
of your or their Underworld affection.
Great sea farms and oak-leaf fleets;
Joan Mitchell meditations
in sprung black, pastoral crimson.
Vivienne; or, A Little Local History
28 February 2013