from England. I’m too jet-lagged
to decipher what. But
as I ferreted through shreds
of the remains of my dim consciousnesstoday, colluding with Manhattan to return
me to its mix and sway,
I sensed I was the object
through my hazeof a determined gaze –
a distillation of the past
when England spooned me upand swallowed me –
a fix of Caliban-ish eyes
which bade me undergo an absolute
refusal to resume whatever compromisehad held me up until that moment.
The sort of thing that ought to foment
change. Rough magic. Strange.