My Fascinations Retire -- That's Them Sleeping, Customer

[jeff harrison]

hours rose-colored indeed drift into Herr B's hazes
these hazes draw a wink on unwearied hours
placid these hours, their transport nigh ended,
VERSE, pilot them to their unfruitful tongues' scholar 

few fit for Herr B's fire, but any thunder 
can accompany his lantern, here's the
outweighed thinking that Antiquity faults 
misfortune whether misfortune's calm was
rhetorick or speech unexpectedly run to ornament

EACH HOUR:
"so, accidental me?" 
                             died! 
                                     stage: treading the
boards here, & then, unresisted their guts 

THE HAZES:
"lovely our soup; the Night?" 
                                         there, alive still!

stew soon memorial, the bleeds 
are cut in bunches, Herr Bibliothekarius,
might as them be in spoonfuls thyself

MORAL:
dearer wits too heavy for ladles
only the outweighed turn orators
 
 

		
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