That title, it’s terrible. It sounds like
something a pumpkin head would shout
to scare the little kids at Halloween.
Or like the goat is being castrated again.
(Or it could be the stage where I steal
the shadow from the sunlight,
or the re-sounding of all
the sunlight’s gifts, until, in the current eye’s
current orderings, they become the stage
where I am either re-breathing the soft night air,
or the stink of the night soil once used to breed
life for us.) So the curtain wall is closed
yet again, eh, Mr. Pumpkinhead?
(In the Theatrum Mendacia,
you get my blood
for every show of hands, every moment, sir…
and every apple left by every Eve
and every rib left by Adam is left)…
either as applesauce and/ or as applause.