After the light and the chandelier scraping,
the double-star making, it's hard to face
the red carpet, the casuistry show,
the vacuuming and dusting, the unquiet eye.
Do I wish I could give you "a bath of gold apples"
or "all the songs that sleep in history?" Maybe
this slant alternative is better-plucking lashes
from a winter magazine, little Domestic
winks, if we want, like Italian frames.
Night boats might ferry us further my friend.
Between our ribs, negatives of future architectures,
textures mind-nestled in flesh splinter-tender.
Let the bog-dwellers dream of American cars,
however grateful for "the Woman and the Dog."
We praise them all and drink our grape juices.