from The Martini Mansion by Brian Waniewski


Think me ugly, unkind, old, accursed,
Fat what has today but sun it swelters
& sweats well choose I on the rocks
No—straight-up my suffering and sit.

Wicked moral marauder me you think
I cannot see, but so seeing you suffice—
Go, know the light too like its shadow,
In one the other seek a self too smitten

Too proud, purblind, hapless, hard, he.
The hours’ attributes I list listing more
To have you less be mine or no I grant
That largess like a net so baited be hid

In my aspect as mine in yours did find
Itself the spider bride always spinning
The city closed, the sentence bleeding
Between us though I starve is yours—

Go, stay I the day & be so committed.