My German father’s eyebrows
branched like Brezhnev’s,
sprang out in a mob
of angry arms, all angular
and seizing: flaming forest
full of Valkyries. When
he died, some idiot mortician
clipped them off his corpse.
Every lover I have ever won
has run a kindred course –
sizzling to numb.
What happened to the king?
What manner of a thing
did he become?
.
No comments:
Post a Comment