dummy

Can you put yourself in them? Can you?

I mean, brown and all. A bit faded,

a bit rag-tag, a bit fallen out.

And can you touch them–broken, sore,

left out in the rain to become stiff–

tights boots, wrong boots. You

would not wear to a party. But would you

believe in context? Would you mind them,

would you soften them, would you

believe them? Would you stand in the

pearls? And would you straighten the

note: stop with your chaplets, stop

with your TV, stop with your favoritism.

Would you bury them, in the snow and rain?

Concurrent lifts. Platform. Right.

Exact match. Yes, Publicize. Yes,

Morale Important. A long winter shine–

tool, gloss–anything on the street.

It’s important that we not forget our

phantoms. And they are tough slippers,

to go where he goes. Not seen in the

surveyor’s map, nor in the cocktail

bar. In the shop windows. In plate glass.

Unutterable, too. The utility-bulb

bronze baby-curls curio-shelf piano

shadow-box Leper’s. Damn feet soft.

And yet incendiary; and yet dull.

In for unction–or extreme unction.