I offer to you: the best dressed man in Parkdale.
He also wears gold lamé.
He is a clue.
To the tensile relationship
between beauty and horror in my poems.
As documented, far more ably, by Genet and Acker and Baudelaire.
I once went on a date with the man who wrote the prologue.
The date is in the book, all cherry blossoms.
When the book was first published, all I thought about was love.
Amber and amber and ice.
Now I think of surviving, which is easier to do alone.
I squish all their heads.
And follow the best-dressed man in Parkdale down the street to pick up my good sweater
Mary sewed it for free,
There were 18 moth holes in it.