cold reflective casket

NEGATIVE AURA

They’re readying the great Webb Telescope

to spy on deepest space,

remotest time; a Falcon-Ace

of 18 hexagons – unfolding envelope

or massive sunflower of minstrel mirrors,

golden Land o’Lakes

lenses.  Infinity takes

a very cold reflective casket (yours,

Ophelia).  Meanwhile, down here below,

some Leopardian teller or

Poe-boy bookseller

must trace Columbian fall of sparrow

into bleakest night, last

trumpery.  O quintessence

of hollow volume!  Hence,

3-Card Monty – hateful guest!

As if the door to honey-milky

Providence were locked,

foredoomed.  A thousand shocks

in sovereign succession, so quickly

hammered to an Irish skull...

Earthquake, heartbreak.

Ophelia is in the lake –

my center sinks to muddy soil.

Sun gleams in fireplace of camera,

her little room on high –

her lampblack like a sty

in prism orange (strange negative aura).

11.22.16