The blessings
of all Christendom
upon the crown
of my bald head
—whose embaldned itself
who dances
the dead dance
of dead people.
Of dead people
who move still,
who're dead by
the right of in-
sipid choice, of
imagination,
ultimately.
The machinations
of wine blent.
Have you ever
mixed white and red
as an oenophile?
Is an embarrassment
of the ignorance of varietals.
Of the having a liver
and tongue,
and the nails
coming down
a chalkboard.
