mmmmdccxxiv

The pleasure of caressing a disguise.

this is what I see:

via savonarola flying

over schuyler’s collected poems.

batman and wonder woman are

miniature bathtub ducks and they

stand (sit) sentry, surveying the

environ. security ducks. the

two most adoring fans are

barely whirring. this place

is no hotbox, but it’s no

ice box, either (sorry,

officer). sitting in

the middle of its

most open

space, an

elegant

desk chair drug

from the garbage

just yesterday, its

faux brown leather

headrest worn through

a bit incongruously, but

otherwise in seemingly 

excellent shape. a red light

flickers off and on, it’s on the singular

electric portable stove. no ring of fire 

in this more welcoming abode, either, 

but the pan of near-boiling water atop it

readies for the pasta di semola di grand duro

that’s slipped, still packaged, slightly beneath 

a rather british looking item of practical decor,

a round grey pillow grumpily acting

as elevated cushion for a cur

mudgeon of a laptop, two

keys ripped from its

numerical keypad

(the period and

the 3). a pair

of scissors

(one of 5

in existence,

hidden like reverse easter eggs

throughout the apartment)

camouflaged in a boxy tray 

that also holds a small receptacle

of antacid tablets, a sheet of

pop-out prescription nausea

pills that dissolve under a

tongue rather tastily, a

modern tube of ky

jelly, a sleek hard

drive, the

blue stapler

that’s become

a best friend, etc.