[Le Fond] / stephen ellis

The afternoon is
like the crisp still

of a transparent lightbulb
filament in a film

by Hitchcock from
the 30s, that is,

black, white, and burning,
despite there's blue

sky out there, probably
for the sake of an

emotional distraction
than for the sky

being an actual color.
Pleasure through

moderation [Socrates]
comes modulation where

that little bitch Mikka
foots a dead coon

into river shallows
and asks about

sacraments. She's
got a lot of nerve, but knows

it's about spacing,
and whether death is

its water or wind
casting lots and dividing

between hairs or pissing
through fine bones.

But the transfer
is not so simple.

Rodents come to eat
the corn you store

for the horses of
a stranger. Death

is not stranger than
life, whose hip-

bone occasionally
hits the ceiling.

And hunger is anyway,
weirder than either.

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