Like a collector with the magnifying glass:
A devilish game o’ lentils.
Pastry and haberdasheries and petticoats,
Wild smoke engulfed in naïve nostrils,
A pencil’s scratch on the paper cloth…
Newspapers barking at your coyness.
In the darkness of the clothes
A jaunty syllogism wounds the flesh.
Steam, smog, haze.
Let all this go through the mirror, pass and return
Into the broken world they left
For just one sigh.
Time enough for me
To go
Upstairs
For good.
