Data freeze in cut frames
Rolls burnt in the narthex
Cousins by the bridge
Goes missing in the spring
Chewed open. Show us
Your insides and let us name
The color of your
Evil doings. Under the death
Silks fluttering. We are
Full of breath and
Ravenous and a little
Comes you are ingenious
And quiet beside a stream
Of readymades. The spring
Parts green

From green. It wasn’t
The first time. And a little
Comes. He who sat and asked
Her that she sit
Down naked and
Cross-legged with him
And lock eyes, he who asked
That she discourse naked
By the eye, he who was
Breaking up again. The spring
Is a mad time. The gardens
Neoclassical austerely
Wait. Outside Austerlitz
By Avon. This operation
Is wasted, we’re so over
It. We want a pure
Moral form like a triangle.
One that doesn’t turn over
Like that when it comes.