Henry’s Back

In the eternal purgatory of his night
wherein his soul experiences yearning
so intensely it may burst abruptly into sight –
in those strange moments of the burning

of his ardor to disperse at last the steam
that otherwise impedes achieving
form – manifestation of the dream –
in that sweet chance of finally relieving

the unbearable condition of his being –
he will sometimes pop upon your knee –
and while you can’t believe you’re seeing
him all winged and plump and naked, he

will whisper – ah! exquisite consonantal spit! –
his unmistakable locutions. Henry James
is back, revealing every last salacious bit
of the explicit truth, naming names.





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