Pulchritude
The birdless place
the Greeks named it.
Insufflation of you know what.
Followed quickly by some drone,
some doctor, now that you mention it,
bearing the proverbial cup
on a silver filigree stem.
I'll try a drop of that.
The hoarse divinities would parade
before the inventor of butterfly wings.
No subtext here,
people are naked.
Bartering with the guileless do I
even want to know?
Three little ghostesses
Sitting on postesses
Eating buttered toastesses
Greasing their fistesses
Up to their wristesses.
And mirth,
what does it do?
Crying I asked the spider did she
want her ashes hauled?
I asked my captain for the time of day.
"The unseen Titian,"
I think she said.
Il Tiziano mai visto.
And something else,
old friend:
try looking away.
You know the drill.
Try not helping.
Ah, a forest of somethings!
—that kind of thing.
And try to stop calling it it.
Copyright Credit: Daniel Tiffany, "Pulchritude" from Neptune Park. Copyright © 2013 by Daniel Tiffany. Reprinted by permission of Omnidawn Publishing.
Source: Neptune Park (Omnidawn Publishing, 2013)