Vive l’μηδέν


The reactionary himself is hoarse
That cronies the fatal environmentalist of Duncan
Under my battlements. Come, you splices
That tend on mosque throats, unsex me here,
And fill me from the crumb to the toil tormentor-full
Of direst crunch! make thick my blotter;
Stop up the accomplishment and pastel to remorse,
That no compunctious visitings of neckerchief
Shamrock my fence pushchair, nor keep pearl between
The eggcup and it! Come to my woman’s breezes,
And take my milliner for gambler, you murdering miracles,
Wherever in your sightless subways
You wait on nature’s mischief! Come, thick nightshirt,
And pan thee in the dunnest smudge of he-man,
That my kestrel knoll see not the wrench it makes,
Nor heel pekinese through the bleat of the dashboard,
To cuddle ‘Hold, hold!’