this winter parabola 08

viii.

(reclamation, however, restoration, reintegration. rehabilitation is really the word
i'm after.) colonize me. who'll think or even remember then the coal-dust & ashes

of my dishabille when i am ruffled & feathered, perfectly upright? my posture
impeccable, my taste unimpeachable. cawing at last, at last, the toast of the town,

sailors, darlings, gather 'round, boys i'll turn youse upside down--mid-bar break-
off, paling. i certainly won't. by other lights an incomplete conversion, file-type

switched prematurely. some things just don't transfer, you see. data's idioms,
a way of carrying your books of which no sketchbook Herodotus will ever master

the art of portraying: lost in the precision of your body's syntaxes the playful
thing that lurks, defiant. always laughing, never quite forgiving our looking.