from The Martini Mansion by Brian Waniewski

5. Testament

Knee this tricked am I old in need—new cane
So the white-coat’s quack car be bullet-proof
So his girl better betitted her own frontispiece
Be, so pill, his tincture, this ointment of snake
I take meanly to in his gold eyes an age made
Congenital as that airless anteroom, incidence

Across its tables fanned—colors can but fade
In his black minty mouth I think that time lies
Its fits and starts spa-cuisine slicked over, sir
I have my teeth & take a steak too bloody bad
For your future, Frankenstein, the 401K fiend
Forsakes its father for the more original doom.

A drink. A symptom of loves overmuch twixt
Dust covers pressed, finally, against my chest
They crumbled, what I had once sun-touched
Seen so my eye plucked & put away its stem
Behold, though stolen home the colors stayed
& like a song returned I yearned to kiss them

Petal for petal—gone, perhaps, or too much
Present I bode for them long & haply hard it
Became itself beauty of a season’s squander
How I stand perfected, bow-legged, yet seed
& fodder both, with the four winds I prepare
Posterity in petto, fists full of that bright ash

And what elixir makes me your mad gadget?
Be he tall, handsome, lithely hipped, hung if
Then would I consider it for a bit of bed rest
To count his lesser qualities wherein our we
Tough tendrils slip & slimed equip shadow
Structurefull, unseen, I lean too a beginning

In that quick root that worms earth for bone
Alike every bed has been for me a box, doc
I see space superfluousless, either come, lie
Or shut up, more walls, bottoms, tops, I hate
To walk & begrudge them my foreshortened
View this lovely liver-spotted trunk, its belly

Ache & bilious grip, that box at bottom toes
Wiggle tho’ tired, then past duely change too
Stiff I see me wood at last and unsadly want-
Less—Gnarled Knee—Let the sleeping lie—