Poetry Seance

so much talk poetry’s dead, poetry’s dying I live with the dead know the dying in myself so I lay a braided scarlet welcome mat at the door and welcome all for this marvelous seance and metamorphosis step right up the plasticine academic gold butterfly returns to the vile chopped red neon street tranvestites ask directions and wink as the mint girls turn their heads shake their ass knowing full well **** has emptied their carrot dangling coffers the man with the gold lamé suit terminal navy ink fingers throwing darts at the half-grinning moon