–Our brains are made of marbles, and a game
is always going on inside our skulls.
-Caroline Knox “Our Brains”
Miroslav Rastropovich
is eating an ice cream cone
by the steps of the Janiculum. It is February
but he’s quite warm in his bearskin.
This after absorbing the exhibition
on the beach of shredded chum.
A bull stands near a rickety fence, the hook through his nostril
like a small bit of stick
dangling from the claw of the back hoe
like the way a habit
grows chronic, natural, enzymatic.
Advil Media was targeting the 20 something crowd all season
and 20 somethings were scattered throughout the forums and avenues
as if the world consisted only of 20 somethings,
the occasional senior citizen slowly wending through them
like a glimmering fish that had swallowed a gem.
The construction of the cello building:
anointed, be as like the planks of 17th century ships.
It is all very 17th century.
A chord that strikes again and again
soaks the nerve in murk.
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